"You have been reading too much Browning and Balzac, I am afraid," said her mother with a sigh.
"I have been reading life, and hard, common sense," cried Missy. "I ought to have been prepared to find we were all to sit meekly waiting at home, while the saint of the family was on probation. It ought to be honor enough. But I admit I would like to have a voice in my sacrifices, and to make them self-denials."
"It is new to me to imagine you finding your pleasure anywhere but at home. Since you feel so about it, I am sure—"
"Oh, don't say anything more about it," cried Missy, thoroughly unhinged. "I can stay here, I suppose. I really am not quite new at doing what I don't like, even if I am only secular."
"You are tired, Missy. Now go and lie down, and don't think anything more about this matter. When we are both fresher, we will talk it over, and you shall decide what shall be done."
At half-past five o'clock she got up, and dressed carefully for dinner, bracing herself for the ordeal with much philosophy. At dinner, she found her philosophy quite superfluous, for Mr. Andrews did not make his appearance, and Gabby scarcely lifted her eyes from her plate. This young person had been awake the night before, and an attentive listener to the conversation between her father and Missy, and it had naturally made a profound impression on her. It is difficult to say why Missy felt annoyed that Mr. Andrews did not come to dinner. She ought to have felt relieved; but on the contrary, she felt vexed. It is always disagreeable not to act your part when you have rehearsed it, and feel well up in it. But it was a great vexation to her to think that she was keeping him from his own dinner-table by reason of that unpleasant speech of the night before. She had only realized that he wasn't at breakfast at the time, with a sense of relief. She now remembered it with a sensation of chagrin. Also, she recalled his pallor and weariness of expression last night, which in her misery about herself, she had forgotten. It was possible he was really suffering to-day. It was only three days since he had met with a serious accident, all in their service.
"How is Mr. Andrews feeling to-day?" she asked of the waitress.
"Not quite so well, Miss, I think."
"Has he kept his room?"
"Oh, no, Miss, but he doesn't seem to have much appetite, and I believe the doctor told him he mustn't think of going to town for several days yet. He had been telling the doctor he was going down, and would stay away perhaps a week, and promised to keep very quiet there. But the doctor wouldn't hear of it, and said the hot weather might come on suddenly, and make him very sick, and besides, he wasn't fit to bear the journey."