“If it is not too hard,” said she.
“‘Let not their precious balms break my head,’” said Clement.
“I do not like that pain in the back. Remember how he dragged his limbs when first we had him at home, and how delicate he was up to thirteen—only eight years ago!”
“Probably it will not last long enough to do him much harm.”
“And how nobly uncomplaining he is!”
“This has brought out all the good we always trusted was in reserve.”
“Better than Emilia’s experiment,” sighed Geraldine.
For Emilia Vanderkist, before her year was over, was at home, having broken down, and having spent most of her holidays with Mrs. Peter Brown, the wife of Sir Ferdinand’s partner. She had come back, not looking much the worse for her hospital experience, but with an immense deal to say of the tyranny of the matron, the rudeness of the nurses to probationers, the hardness and tedium of the work to which she had been put, and the hatefulness of patients and of doctors.
Anna sympathized with all the vehemence of her sisterly affection, and could hardly believe her aunts, who told her that things must have changed in a wonderful manner since the time of Angela’s experiences, for she had been very happy in the same place, and made no complaints.
Emilia had written to her cousin Marilda to express her willingness to return so soon as the Travis Underwoods should come home, and in the meantime she remained at Vale Leston, not showing quite as much tolerance as might be expected of the somewhat narrow way of life of her sisters. She did not like being a lodger, as it were, in Sophy’s bedroom; she found fault with the parlour-maid’s waiting, complained of the noise of the practising of the three little sisters, and altogether reminded Geraldine of Alda in penance at home.