She broke off, shivering, but resumed almost at once--'I see it all--I think I see it all. And now it's all done for between you and me. If George dies, I shall never come back to live with you again. You'd better make plans, Bridget. It's over for ever.'
'You don't know what you're saying, now,' said Bridget, coldly.
Nelly did not hear her, she was lost in a whirl of images and thoughts. And governed by them she went up to Bridget again, thrusting her small white face under her sister's eyes.
'What sort of a room was he in, Bridget? Who was nursing him? Are you sure he didn't know you? Did you call him by his name? Did you make him understand?'
'He knew nobody,' said Bridget, drawing back, against her will, before the fire in Nelly's wild eyes. 'He was in a very good room. There was a nurse sitting with him.'
'Of course he was. If not, I should have known him.'
Nelly half smiled. Bridget could never have thought that soft mouth capable of so much scorn. But no words came. Then Nelly walked away to a drawer where she kept her accounts, her cheque-book, and any loose money she might be in possession of. She took out her cheque-book and some two or three pounds that lay there.
'If you want money, I can lend you some,' said Bridget, catching at the old note of guardianship.
'Nelly, don't be a fool!' said Bridget, stung at last into speech. 'Suppose all you think is true--I don't admit it, mind--but suppose it's true. How was I doing such a terrible wrong to you?--in the eyes, I mean, of sensible people--in not disturbing your mind. Nobody expected--that man I saw--to know anybody again--or to live more than a few days. Even if I had been certain--and how could I be certain?--wasn't it _reasonable_ to weigh one thing against another? You know very well--it's childish to ignore it--what's been going on here----'
But she paused. Nelly, writing a letter, was not apparently concerned with anything Bridget had been saying. It did not seem to have reached her ears. A queer terror shot through Bridget. But she dismissed it. As if Nelly could ever really get on without her. Little, feckless, sentimental thing!
'I have written to Sir William's agent, Bridget'--she said turning towards her sister--'to say that I give up the farm. I shall pay the servant. Hester will look after my things, and send them--when I want them.'