“Jacky, won’t you eat a piece o’ mammy’s ash-cake if she bake it for you?”
Jacqueline smiled a faint smile that made Judith almost weep.
“I can’t, dear,” she said.
It was impossible to force her to eat, and the next morning Dr. Wortley was sent for. He came up in his cheery way; he had heard something of the Turkey Thicket party, but he would say no word to the anxious father and mother. He talked cheerfully to Jacqueline, without assuming to doctor her, and called her attention to the beautiful spring weather. It was March, but the air was as mild as April.
“All my hyacinths and jonquils are out,” he said. “There is a bed in my garden that is protected on the north by a hedge and an arbor, and everything in that bed is a week ahead of the rest of the neighborhood. I will bring you everything that is blooming there to-morrow. By the way, what would you fancy to eat, Jacky?”
“I can’t eat anything,” replied Jacqueline, with quiet obstinacy.
Next day Dr. Wortley came again, with a great bunch of hyacinths and jonquils, and laid them on Jacqueline’s bed. Her large and lusterless eyes gazed at them with indifference. Usually they danced with delight at the sight of flowers. Delilah put a spray of pink hyacinths in her hand.
“Doan’ you ’member, honey, how you useter like dese heah hy’cints, an’ plague yo’ mammy when you wuz little ter plant ’em fur you?”
“Yes, I remember,” said Jacqueline, calmly.
Judith and Mrs. Temple were present. Dr. Wortley said nothing about Jacqueline’s refusing to eat, but talked away, telling all the neighborhood gossip. Then, in a careless way, he felt for Jacqueline’s pulse and listened to the beating of her heart. Both were so faint that Dr. Wortley’s eyes became grave. After he left the room, he beckoned to Mrs. Temple to follow him. Delilah came, too.