“The eighteenth,” said Richard; the precision of the date marking but too well the consciousness that it was an epoch.
“We can keep her quieter upstairs,” said Dr. May; “but you must not see her to-night. She will enjoy you very much to-morrow; but excitement at night always does her harm, so we put her to bed, and told her to think about no one.”
Mrs. Arnott looked at him as if longing, but dreading, to ask further, and allowed her nephew and niece to seat her at the table, and attend to her wants, before she spoke again. “Then the babies.”
“We don’t keep babies, Gertrude would tell you,” said Dr. May. “There are three great creatures, whom Ethel barbarously ordered off to bed. Ethel is master here, you must know, Flora—we all mind what she says.”
“Oh, papa,” pleaded Ethel, distressed, “you know it was because I thought numbers might be oppressive.”
“I never dispute,” said Dr. May. “We bow to a beneficial despotism, and never rebel, do we, Meta?”
Seeing that Ethel took the imputation to heart, Meta rejoined, “You are making Mrs. Arnott think her the strong-minded woman of the family, who winds up the clock and cuts the bread.”
“No; that she makes you do, when the boys are away.”
“Of course,” said Ethel, “I can’t be vituperated about hunches of bread. I have quite enough to bear on the score of tea.”
“Your tea is very good,” said Richard.