“Well, I could hardly die suddenly under any circumstances,” returned Angela, indifferently.  “You’ve been watching by my death-bed for forty years.”

“Oh, dear sister,” pleaded Mrs. Bleeker, whose heart, was as soft as her bosom.

“It does sound as if you thought we really wanted your things,” commented Mrs. Payne, opening and shutting her painted fan.  “Of course—­if you were to die we should be too heart-broken to care what you left—­but, since we are on the subject, I’ve always meant to ask you to leave me the shawl of old rose-point which belonged to mother.”

“Rosa, how can you?” remonstrated Mrs. Bleeker, “I am sure I hope Angela will outlive me many years, but if she doesn’t I want everything she has to go to Laura.”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t see how Laura could very well wear a rose-point shawl,” persisted Mrs. Payne.  “I wouldn’t have started the subject for anything on earth, Angela, but, since you’ve spoken of it, I only mention what is in my mind.  And now don’t say a word, Sophy, for we’ll go back to other matters.  In poor Angela’s mental state any little excitement may bring on a relapse.”

“A relapse of what?” bluntly enquired honest Mrs. Bleeker.

Mrs. Payne turned upon her a glance of indignant calm.

“Why a relapse of—­of her trouble,” she responded.  “You show a strange lack of consideration for her condition, but for my part I am perfectly assured that it needs only some violent shock, such as may result from a severe fall or the unexpected sight of a man, to produce a serious crisis.”

Mrs. Bleeker shook her head with the stubborn common sense which was the reactionary result of her romantic escapade.

“A fall might hurt anybody,” she rejoined, “but I’m sure I don’t see why the mere sight of a man should.  I’ve looked at one every day for thirty years and fattened on it, too.”

“That,” replied Mrs. Payne, who still delighted to prick at the old scandal with a delicate dissecting knife, “is because you have only encountered the sex in domestic shackles.  As for me, I haven’t the least doubt in the world that the sudden shock of beholding a man after forty years would be her death blow.”

“But she has seen Percival,” insisted Mrs. Bleeker; and feeling that her illustration did not wholly prove her point added, weakly, “at least he wears breeches.”

“I would not see him if I could help myself,” broke in Angela, with sudden energy.  “I never—­never—­never wish to see a man again in this world or the next.”

Mrs. Payne glanced sternly at Mrs. Bleeker and followed it with an emphatic head shake, which said as plainly as words, “So there’s your argument.”

“All the same, I don’t believe Robert would shock her,” remarked Mrs. Bleeker.

“Never—­never—­never,” repeated Angela in a frozen agony, and, rising, she walked restlessly up and down again until a servant appeared to inform the visiting sisters that dinner and Miss Wilde awaited them below.