"But you can go and ask, Prince," said Mrs. Van Horn, seeming not to hear the first part of the remark. "Mrs. Emerson sent me word, a day or two since, that she particularly wished to see me but I have been too unwell to go out of the house."
Prince wavered a little.
"I'll go and ask," said he, at last; "though I know she won't see anybody."
Mrs. Van Horn, as we know, was famous for carrying her points, and did not suffer from the restraints of delicacy. She followed Prince up-stairs, and her silvery voice was heard speaking over his shoulder.
"You really must let me in, dear Agnes. I will not tire you by talking; but I positively cannot pass another night without seeing you."
And, taking advantage of the man's astonishment, she pushed him aside, and entered the chamber, saying, "I am sure, dear, you must want some one to cheer you up—"
She stopped short, dismayed, in spite of her effrontery, partly by finding herself face to face with the two people she most dreaded to meet,—Letty and Dr. Woodman,—and partly at the change in Agnes. However, she recovered her voice in a moment.
"My poor child, how ill you look!" she cried, advancing to the bed. "I had no idea you were confined to your room. How dull you must be here, shut up from everybody! Your servant was not going to let me in; but I was determined to see with my own eyes that you were comfortable,—though of course you must be so, with such an excellent nurse as your cousin. My dear Mrs. Caswell, how remarkably well you are looking!—Positively younger than you did ten years ago! And how are the dear children?"
Letty was silent. She could not make up her mind to reply. The doctor's lip was compressed and his brows contracted. With all her impudence, Mrs. Van Horn was somewhat taken aback by her reception.
"Mrs. Van Horn," said Agnes, raising herself upon her pillow, "I cannot pretend to guess what has brought you here; but, as a dying woman—"