No answer yet about my little book. Every time the postman knocks I hope and hope, but the letter does not come. It is a long while to wait.
Something seems to be wrong with Mrs. Romilly—we don't know what. She has grown terribly thin, and she is weak and low and hysterical. I think Elfie takes after her mother in being so hysterical; only it is treated as a crime in Elfie. Everybody in the house is expected to be always happy and cheerful, for the sake of Mrs. Romilly, and for fear of upsetting her. The least thing upsets her now. She burst into tears in Church on Sunday, and had to be taken out. It did look so funny to see her little bit of a husband trying to support her; and I was angry with myself for feeling it funny, when they all looked so troubled—and yet I could hardly keep down a smile.
I am quite sure life is not very smooth just now in Glynde House. Nellie does not say much; but Elfie looks wretched; and Elfie is a sort of family-barometer, Mother says. One can tell the state of the home atmosphere from her face. Maggie and Nona are not easily disturbed; and Thyrza seems always apart from the rest.
November 22.—A really hopeful answer has come about my little book. If I am willing to make certain alterations, it is most likely to be accepted. Of course I should not think of refusing. They want the story to be more cheerful, and not to have a sad ending.
I sent off lately another small story-book to a publisher; but somehow I am not hopeful about that. Now I shall set to work upon these alterations.
Poor Mrs. Romilly is very ill, with a sharp attack on the chest. A doctor has been down from London for a consultation; and he says she has been frightfully delicate for a long while, and has been under a great strain, trying to keep up. The lungs are affected, he says, but I believe not dangerously; and her nerves are much worse. She can see nobody except Nellie and her maid,—not even Mr. Romilly; and she won't hear of a trained nurse, and they don't know what to do with her. I hardly get a glimpse of Nellie.
December 22.—Poor Mrs. Romilly is a shade better,—not so fearfully weak and excitable, but still she can't leave her room, or bear to be spoken to above a whisper. A step on the landing sends her into a sort of agony. I wonder if she could not possibly help some of this, if she really tried. She makes such a fuss always about Elfie controlling herself. But then Mrs. Romilly is ill, and Elfie is not. That of course makes some difference. I do think it is terribly trying for those girls, though—not to speak of Denham. The house has to be kept as still as if a funeral were going on.
February 20.—Those poor Romillys! Oh, I do feel sorry for them—and for myself!
There has been another consultation about Mrs. Romilly; and the doctors say she must go abroad as soon as possible, and stay away nobody knows how long. Nellie and Benson are to travel with her.
The cold March winds are talked about as the chief reason; but of course that is not all, for she is to stay on the continent six months at least. March winds will be over long enough before then.