“Could not, ma’am! As if people could not eat if they pleased.”
“But if people have no appetite, my dear, I am afraid eating will not do much good.”
“I am afraid, my dear aunt, you will not do Miss Stanley much good,” said Miss Clarendon, shaking her head; “you will only spoil her.”
“I am quite spoiled, I believe,” said Helen; “you must unspoil me, Esther.”
“Not so very easy,” said Esther; “but I shall try, for I am a sincere friend.”
“I am sure of it,” said Helen.
Then what more could be said? Nothing at that time—Helen’s look was so sincerely grateful, and “gentle as a lamb,” as aunt Pennant observed; and Esther was not a wolf quite—at heart not at all.
Miss Clarendon presently remarked that Miss Stanley really did not seem glad to be better—glad to get well. Helen acknowledged that instead of being glad, she was rather sorry.
“If it had pleased Heaven, I should have been glad to die.”
“Nonsense about dying, and worse than nonsense,” cried Miss Clarendon, “when you see that it did not please Heaven that you should die—”