Sit down now and tell me all about it.

I wish I had a better chair for you, my dear, but the place is quite dismantled, as you see.

I expected to stay the winter when I left." She had not given a thought to the chair or to the changes--had not even noticed them.

That the room was stripped of its furniture prior to a long stay was what invariably occurred in her own house every summer: it was her precious uncle's pale, shrunken face and the blue veins that showed in the backs of his dear transparent hands which she held between her own, and the thin, emaciated wrists that absorbed her.
"You poor, dear Uncle George!" she purred--"and nobody to look after you." He had drawn up Pawson's chair and had placed her in it beside the one he sat in, and had then dropped slowly into his own, the better to hide from her his weakness--but it did not deceive her.

"I'm going to have you put back to bed this very minute; you are not strong enough to sit up.