to eat today?’
Then Miss Chillard mentioned such a poor diet, things that had been brought and taken away untouched, that Lilia felt miserable and asked Miss Chillard if she could not make her tea.
‘Oh, no, thank you, thank you so much, oh, no, I shall manage; you are so sweet,’ said the woman in her high sweet boarding-school manner.
‘Well, can’t I get you anything?’ said Lilia, oppressed by what she saw. The afternoon sun, hot, brilliant even at this season, poured at the window but not through the window, which was tightly closed, the heavy winter curtains half drawn. It was already sunset in the room. Miss Chillard replied:
‘Oh, nothing, thank you—but there is something if you would be so generous, just get me two ounces of water-biscuits, I saw them once before when I was here, rather sweet without any flavouring, or just a mild one. I know the name. I shall look for it in my notebook and tell you. I shall make my tea and that is all I really want; and if you would get me my medicine. My purse is in the corner of the green valise, just there in the corner,’ she ended sharply as Mrs Trollope lifted the lid of the green valise.
‘Oh, but dear Miss Chillard, I brought you some dry biscuits, the sort you said you liked.’
‘Oh, how good of you, oh, how lovely of you. But I cannot really eat. I shall keep them for the servant, Luisa, as I have really nothing to pay her with and I expect she will be glad of something to eat.’
After a few more words, Lilia left Miss Chillard, went to her room and spoke to Mr Wilkins through the open door, waking him up. There she detailed to him the condition of Miss Chillard and her idea of getting a third doctor.
‘But of course, Robert, I am not sure she would not be a world better if she ate some soup and had a little sun. She has half a balcony. I think it very nice of Mr and Mrs Bonnard to give her that balcony room when she is in debt to them. The biscuits should have been water-biscuits: I made a mistake.’
‘Well, get her a few and see if she can digest them before you buy half a pound of the things,’ said Mr Wilkins.
‘Robert, there is one thing about you that comes out and that is your country origin, that grasping farmer strain. One must not look at every penny. When a poor Englishwoman is here and cannot eat anything, there is no harm in making her feel a little happier.’
‘Get her her medicine and get her one hundred grams of biscuits. She won’t eat them. This is a come-on, you’ll see: she is leading up to a loan. Buy the biscuits if you must play the Good Samaritan.’
‘You know I must have something to do, Robert. The thing about our lives now, living abroad, retired, is that I am completely useless. I would rather go and help them peel vegetables in the kitchen. I’ll ask Mrs Bonnard.’
‘Oh, I’d rather you went and bought Miss Chillard a few biscuits every day. But she is leading up to a touch. I know you’d give away your last shilling and it’s a good thing I’m here to see you do not.’
A little flushed, Mrs Trollope again went up the street, to get the medicine and the water-biscuits. When she returned, she was surprised and embarrassed to find two strangers in Miss Chillard’s room, a French couple who were trying to speak English. They were poor tourists. The woman, in a black toque and grey suit, was offering a small bottle of liniment to Miss Chillard, and Miss Chillard was explaining in English, though she spoke French, that she needed Vitamin A and not liniment:
‘My fingers are so cold; I wish you had brought that instead.’
She turned to Lilia, coldly: ‘They don’t seem to understand. Would you tell her that, Mrs Collop? But don’t refuse the liniment, take the liniment, I don’t want to hurt her feelings. Put it on the glass shelf above the basin, with the other bottles, where I can get it. I shall ask the Italian maid to rub me. Perhaps I shall get some feeling back into my legs and arms’;
Then Miss Chillard mentioned such a poor diet, things that had been brought and taken away untouched, that Lilia felt miserable and asked Miss Chillard if she could not make her tea.
‘Oh, no, thank you, thank you so much, oh, no, I shall manage; you are so sweet,’ said the woman in her high sweet boarding-school manner.
‘Well, can’t I get you anything?’ said Lilia, oppressed by what she saw. The afternoon sun, hot, brilliant even at this season, poured at the window but not through the window, which was tightly closed, the heavy winter curtains half drawn. It was already sunset in the room. Miss Chillard replied:
‘Oh, nothing, thank you—but there is something if you would be so generous, just get me two ounces of water-biscuits, I saw them once before when I was here, rather sweet without any flavouring, or just a mild one. I know the name. I shall look for it in my notebook and tell you. I shall make my tea and that is all I really want; and if you would get me my medicine. My purse is in the corner of the green valise, just there in the corner,’ she ended sharply as Mrs Trollope lifted the lid of the green valise.
‘Oh, but dear Miss Chillard, I brought you some dry biscuits, the sort you said you liked.’
‘Oh, how good of you, oh, how lovely of you. But I cannot really eat. I shall keep them for the servant, Luisa, as I have really nothing to pay her with and I expect she will be glad of something to eat.’
After a few more words, Lilia left Miss Chillard, went to her room and spoke to Mr Wilkins through the open door, waking him up. There she detailed to him the condition of Miss Chillard and her idea of getting a third doctor.
‘But of course, Robert, I am not sure she would not be a world better if she ate some soup and had a little sun. She has half a balcony. I think it very nice of Mr and Mrs Bonnard to give her that balcony room when she is in debt to them. The biscuits should have been water-biscuits: I made a mistake.’
‘Well, get her a few and see if she can digest them before you buy half a pound of the things,’ said Mr Wilkins.
‘Robert, there is one thing about you that comes out and that is your country origin, that grasping farmer strain. One must not look at every penny. When a poor Englishwoman is here and cannot eat anything, there is no harm in making her feel a little happier.’
‘Get her her medicine and get her one hundred grams of biscuits. She won’t eat them. This is a come-on, you’ll see: she is leading up to a loan. Buy the biscuits if you must play the Good Samaritan.’
‘You know I must have something to do, Robert. The thing about our lives now, living abroad, retired, is that I am completely useless. I would rather go and help them peel vegetables in the kitchen. I’ll ask Mrs Bonnard.’
‘Oh, I’d rather you went and bought Miss Chillard a few biscuits every day. But she is leading up to a touch. I know you’d give away your last shilling and it’s a good thing I’m here to see you do not.’
A little flushed, Mrs Trollope again went up the street, to get the medicine and the water-biscuits. When she returned, she was surprised and embarrassed to find two strangers in Miss Chillard’s room, a French couple who were trying to speak English. They were poor tourists. The woman, in a black toque and grey suit, was offering a small bottle of liniment to Miss Chillard, and Miss Chillard was explaining in English, though she spoke French, that she needed Vitamin A and not liniment:
‘My fingers are so cold; I wish you had brought that instead.’
She turned to Lilia, coldly: ‘They don’t seem to understand. Would you tell her that, Mrs Collop? But don’t refuse the liniment, take the liniment, I don’t want to hurt her feelings. Put it on the glass shelf above the basin, with the other bottles, where I can get it. I shall ask the Italian maid to rub me. Perhaps I shall get some feeling back into my legs and arms’;