Deeply troubled, Penny followed Lorinda upstairs to the luxuriously furnished bed chamber. Celeste, in white starched uniform, was hovering anxiously over the bed where Mrs. Rhett lay. Lorinda’s mother looked ten years older than when Penny had last seen her. Her face was pale and shriveled, her eyes listless.
“I don’t want the food!” she said peevishly to Celeste, pushing aside a spoonful of custard which was held to her lips. “It is useless to eat.”
On the other side of the bed stood a stout, middle-aged man whom Lorinda introduced as Doctor Everett, a specialist.
“Mrs. Rhett,” he said sternly, “you are acting very foolish in refusing food. I have made a careful examination and can find nothing whatsoever the matter.”
“I didn’t call you to this house,” the woman retorted. “Please go away and leave me alone. One has a right to die in peace.”
“You will not die,” said the doctor patiently. “Your illness is only a fancy of the mind.”
Mrs. Rhett tossed her head on the pillow. “Go away!” she ordered. “It was my daughter who called you here—not I. No doctor can be of the slightest aid to me.”
“Not unless you are willing to cooperate. Now I suggest that a trained nurse be called in to—”
“A trained nurse!” cried Celeste, straightening from the bedside. “Only I will tend my mistress! We will have no stranger in the household!”
“I want Celeste,” agreed Mrs. Rhett, clinging to the servant’s hand. “She is the only one who understands my ailment. Celeste will take care of me—no one else.”