"The constitutions of fashionable ladies endure more than that," replied Miss Dean, who might perhaps have liked Antonia better than was the case had that young person not assumed the shape of a future sister-in-law.
"Yes," agreed the other, "but then they do nothing else, and Dolly—excuse me for calling her by that ridiculous name, but we have got into the habit of it—is never at rest from morning till night, she rises early and she goes to bed late, and she is here there and everywhere at all hours of the day."
This was true at any rate. It was precisely what a solemn old doctor told her when by Mr. Mortomley's request she sent next day for "some one to give her something."
He said she had better go out of town to some quiet place, and accordingly Dolly accompanied by Lenore and her maid left Homewood before the week was over.
It was when Mortomley was saying his last words of farewell that the first drop of rain indicating foul weather to come, fell on her upturned face.
"Dolly dear, you won't spend more money than you can help," said her husband in the tone of a man who would just have liked about as well to cut his throat as utter the words.
Dolly opened her eyes. It had been a childish habit of hers, and time failed to cure her of it.
"Do I spend too much?" she asked.
"Not half enough, if we had it to spend," was the answer; then he added hurriedly, "you are not vexed, you do not mind my speaking." At that moment, 'Take your seats. Now, sir, if you please,' was shouted out, and Dolly could only reply from her corner in the carriage,
"I will tell you when you come down," but there was not a shade on her face. Her look was bright as ever, while she put her hand in his.