"Then maybe he'll teach me his happiness. I've been a selfish woman, living for no one but myself all my days, and now at seventy I feel as attached to the world as if I was twenty-five; aye, and more attached. I'm a worldling, my dear, a worldling to the core." Every day after that, unless the rain fell, the little wicker phaeton would come rattling up to Brandon, with or without its mistress. If Lady O'Brien did not come herself, one of us filled the vacant place in the phaeton, but I am not at all sure that Pierce, though he is so affectionate, did not enjoy the old lady's society more than ours. A curious and touching friendship sprang up quickly between them. They never seemed to tire of each other's company; and the old lady's shrewd, humorous, slightly biting comments on men and things, and her glimpses of the world she had left behind her, seemed to afford great delight and refreshment to our poor invalid. It was strange to see him so humble, so devout, so cheerfully resigned to the Will that was taking him in the flower of his youth, yet looking at the world through the eyes of tolerant laughter, with which the world-worn old woman presented it. "The boy is teaching me how to die," she said to Aline in one of her serious moments. And one could scarcely doubt that she was helping him in the last moments of his life, which it was his desire and his will to leave with cheerful courage, and a trust too great for sadness. We all grew very fond of Lady O'Brien in those days. She had come in the nick of time for Pierce. She brought us all out of our shells. Once we dined at Annagower, Aline and Esther and I, but only once, for Aline would be with Pierce all she could, and she did not like to leave him a portion of the evening alone. But we often went to tea, Pierce and Aline driving, and we following, Esther and I and the boys; and hugely the boys enjoyed it, for Lady O'Brien had a most generous idea of catering for boyish appetites. She was still in process of settling down at Annagower, and still many of the pictures and curios she had gathered up stood in their cases unpacked. Part of the house was yet in the hands of workmen, for it had got damp and uninhabitable during the years of its mistress's absence. It was, or is, a long, low, pleasant house, with a green porch, and roses nodding at the little windows. The room which I associate most with Lady O'Brien is a low-ceiled panelled room, covered with Indian matting, which looked so cool that hot summer. White curtains hung before the windows, through which the light came green, because the gardener had been forbidden to prune the roses and honeysuckle outside. The room was full of the most comfortable chairs all petticoated in green and white chintz, and there was old china behind the glass lattices of the corner cupboards.