With a sober face, as was
befitting an interview with one so deeply burdened as Mrs. Adair,
she went down to the parlour.
"My dear friend!" she said, tenderly, almost sadly, as she took the
hand of her visiter.
Into the eyes of Mrs. Adair she looked earnestly for the glittering
tear-veil, and upon her lips for the grief curve. To her surprise
neither were there; but a cheerful light in the former and a gentle
smile on the latter.
"How are you this morning?"
Mrs. Endicott's voice was low and sympathizing.
"I feel a little stronger, to-day, thank you," answered Mrs. Adair,
smiling as she spoke.
"How is your breast?"
"Still very tender."
"And the pain in your side."
"I am not free from that a moment."
Still she smiled as she answered. There was not even a touch of
sadness or despondency in her voice.
"Not free a moment! How do you bear it?"
"Happily--as I often say to myself--I have no time to think about
the pain," replied Mrs. Adair, cheerfully. "It is wonderful how
mental activity lifts us above the consciousness of bodily
suffering. For my part, I am sure that if I had nothing to do but to
sit down and brood over my ailments, I would be one of the most
miserable, complaining creatures alive.
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