“It is a great exertion, and I shall suffer terribly afterwards,” said the good woman. “But you always were masterful, Marcia.”
“Well, you see,” said Marcia gently, “if I nurse you at all, I must do it according to my own lights. You are not feverish. The day is lovely, and there is no earthly reason why you should stay in bed.”
“But the exertion, with my weak heart.”
“Oh, mother, let me feel your pulse. Your heart is beating quite steadily.”
“Marcia, I do hope you are not learning to be unfeeling.”
“No,” replied the girl, “I am learning to be sensible.”
“You look so nice. Do sit opposite to me where I can watch your face, and tell me about your school, exactly what you did, what the girls were like; what the head mistress was like, and what the town of Frankfort is like.”
(Four pages missing here.)
“I am sorry, dear.”
“How could we go? Whoever is with mother this afternoon will be too fagged to go. We simply couldn’t go. And to think that this is to go on for ever. It’s more than we can stand.”