Of course Ellett had been informed the night before, and had come down at once. When again, next day, he returned, there was a long consultation, and it was decided that the patient was so well that Ellett might move down and take care of him, that the doctor would come back and stay a few days, and that Mr. Lyndsay and his family might go away on Sunday night. To this plan Mrs. Lyndsay somewhat eagerly assented, for reasons of which she said nothing, an unusual course for the little lady.
Thus, on Friday and Saturday, what with fishing and packing, every one was busy.
“Preliminaries are the bane of existence,” said Anne, “but postliminaries are worse”; and thereupon she asked Ned if that word was in “Worcester,” and declared for a dictionary of her own making.
Mrs. Lyndsay had no opinion of Anne’s capacities in any practical direction, and declined for a day her help in the care of Mr. Carington. But now she was over-busy, and thus it chanced on the next morning, being Saturday, that she asked Anne to look after their wounded guest. They had purposely brought no maids with them, and, even with all of Rose’s help, Anne had been obliged to assist in packing, for, as concerned her books, she was as old-maidish and precise as are some other of her corps about what Anne regarded as quite unimportant properties. To escape, at last, out of the bustle of packing, and to find some one to talk to or be talked to, was entirely to her taste.
“Certainly, Margaret,” she said.
“And do not let him talk.”
“No.”
“And do not talk to him, dear.”
“Of course not.”
“There is nothing so fatiguing.”