From the long interview with the doctor, Miss Mulberry emerged with a troubled face.
Lessons went irregularly that day. Our quarter of an hour’s recreation was as much extended as it was commonly cut short, and Madame herself was subdued. She became a very kind nurse to Matilda, and crept many times from her bed during the night to see if “la pauvre petite” were sleeping, or had a wish that she could satisfy.
Indeed, an air of remorse seemed to tinge the kindness of the heads of Bush House to poor Matilda, which connected itself in Eleanor’s mind with a brief dialogue that she overheard between Miss Mulberry and the doctor at the front door:
“I feel there has been culpable neglect,” said Miss Mulberry mournfully. “But——”
“No, no. At least, not wilful,” said the doctor; “and springing from the best motives. But I should not be doing my duty, madam, towards a lady in your responsible position, if I did not say that I have known too many cases in which the ill-results have been life-long, and some in which they have been rapidly fatal.”
CHAPTER XVII.
ELEANOR’S HEALTH—HOLY LIVING—THE PRAYER OF THE SON OF SIRACH.
Matilda went home, and Eleanor and I remained at Bush House.
I fancy that when we no longer had to repress ourselves for poor Matilda’s sake, Eleanor was more sensible of her own aches and pains. She also became rather irritable, and had more than one squabble with Madame about this time.