"But, in the state she is, I cannot reason with her, or talk to her of the necessity of my being away.

Any approach to the topic irritates her." "I should go, and say nothing to her beforehand," observed Dr.West.
"When she found you were really off, and that there was no remedy for it, she must perforce reconcile herself to it." Every fond feeling within Lionel revolted at the suggestion.

"We are speaking of my mother, doctor," was his courteously-uttered rebuke.
"Well, if you would not like to do that, there's nothing for it but patience," the doctor rejoined, as he drew open one of the iron gates.
"Lady Verner may be no better than she is now for weeks to come.
Good-day, Mr.Lionel." Lionel paced into the house with a slow step, and went up to his mother's chamber.

She was lying on a couch by the fire, her eyes closed, her pale features contracted as if with pain.

Her maid Therese appeared to be busy with her, and Lionel called out Decima.
"There's no improvement, I hear, Decima." "No.