"I will go now," she said, "and see if I can persuade Sister Martha to come back. If you haven't mortally offended her, that is."
Louise started up from her chair, and put her cup, only half emptied, on the table.
"Madeleine!—please—please, don't! I can't have her back again. I am quite well now. There was nothing more she could do for me. I shall sleep a thousand times better at night if she is not here. Oh, don't bring her back again! Her voice cut like a knife, and her hands were so hard."
She trembled with excitement, and was on the brink of tears.
"Hush!—don't excite yourself like that," said Madeleine, and tried to soothe her. "There's no need for it. If you are really determined not to have her, then she shall not come and that's the end of it. Not but what I think it foolish of you all the same," she could not refrain from adding. "You are still weak. However, if you prefer it, I'll do my best to run up this evening to see that you have everything for the night."
"I don't want you either."
Madeleine shrugged her shoulders, and her pity became tinged with impatience.
"The doctor says you must go away somewhere, for a change," she said as she beat up the pillows and smoothed out the crumpled sheets, preparatory to coaxing her patient back to bed.
Louise shook her head, but did not speak.
"A few weeks' change of air is what you need to set you up again."