"I know you are a little Fra Angelico angel, with your halo laid in your top bureau drawer among your collars, for fear people should see it; but I have a little scrap of conscience about me somewhere,—not much, only about a saltspoonful,—and if you came every day it would get up and worry me, and I can't be worried. Besides, the doctor ordered it, positively."
"Doctor Flower? has he been out again?"
"Yes, he came on Monday. I thought I was going to die, and wanted him to see how prettily I should do it. I'll never send for him again; he always tells me to get up and do things. Tiresome man! I told him I was perfectly exhausted by simply listening to him for half an hour. He replied by ordering this Miss Fox, or whoever she is. I am to try her for a month; I sha'n't probably keep her a week."
"A nurse?"
"No, not a trained nurse. She means to be one, goes to the hospital in the autumn. He thinks she has a gift, or something. I detest people with a gift. Probably she has a squint, too. You will have to receive her when she comes, Margaret, and take the edge off her. I fancy her unendurable, but I promised to try; I really must be going to die, I am growing so amiable. Which of my gems do you want? I am going to make my will this time. You needn't laugh, Margaret Montfort."
"I was laughing at your dying of amiability, Mrs. Peyton!" said Margaret. "When is this young lady—I suppose she is young, if she is going to study nursing—when is she coming?"
"To-morrow, I believe; or is it to-day? where is the note? Tuesday! Is this Tuesday? It cannot be."
"Yes, this is Tuesday, and the three o'clock train—I suppose that is the train she will come by—must be in by this time. Hark! there are wheels this moment. Can she be coming now, Mrs. Peyton?"
"My dear, it would be exactly like the conception I have formed of her. Go down and see her, will you, Margaret? Tell her I have a headache, or Asiatic cholera, or anything you like. I cannot possibly see her to-day. Her name is Fox—or Wolfe, I can't remember which. Bless you, child! you save my life. Show her the Calico Room. Hand me the amethyst rope before you go; I must compose my nerves."
With a smile and a sigh, Margaret ran down-stairs, and met the newcomer on the doorstep. A tall, pale, grave-looking girl, with deep-set blue eyes, and smooth bands of brown hair—a rather remarkable-looking person, Margaret thought.