"All she needs now is cheerful company, I am sure," she answered demurely; "you all make her so tender and baby-like, she never will have any strength again. I've been as soft as a cooing dove. Dr. Harlowe would have been delighted with me."
"You must go, Margaret, indeed you must. You may think yourself a dove, but others have a different opinion."
"Going, going, gone!" she cried, giving me a vehement kiss and vanishing.
The consequence of this energetic visit was a relapse; and Dr. Harlowe was as angry as his nature admitted when he learned the cause.
"That wild-cat must not remain here," said he, shaking his head. "She will kill my gentle patient. Where did you find her, Mrs. Linwood? From what menagerie has she broken loose?"
"She is the daughter of an early and very dear friend of mine," replied Mrs. Linwood, smiling; "a very original and independent young lady, I grant she is."
"What in the world did you bring her here for?" asked the doctor bluntly; "I intend to chain her, while my child is sick."
"She wished to make a visit in the country, and I thought her wild good-humor would be a counterpoise to the poetry and romance of Grandison Place."
"You have other more attractive and tractable guests. You will not object to my depriving you for a short time of her. May I invite her home with me?"
"Certainly,—but she will not accept the invitation. She is not acquainted with Mrs. Harlowe."