"Hush, Lois; that's nonsense."
"Madge you trouble me very much."
"And that's nonsense too."
Madge was beginning to get over the first sense of novelty and strangeness in all about her; and, as she overcame that, a feeling of delight replaced it, and grew and grew. Madge was revelling in enjoyment. She went out with Mrs. Wishart, for drives in the Park and for shopping expeditions in the city, and once or twice to make visits. She went out with Mr. Dillwyn, too, as we have seen, who took her to drive, and conducted her to galleries of pictures and museums of curiosities; and finally, and with Mrs. Wishart, to a Philharmonic rehearsal. Madge came home in a great state of exultation; though Lois was almost indignant to find that the place and the people had rivalled the performance in producing it. Lois herself was almost well enough to go, though delicate enough still to allow her the choice of staying at home. She was looking like herself again; yet a little paler in colour and more deliberate in action than her old wont; both the tokens of a want of strength which continued to be very manifest. One day Madge came home from going with Mrs. Wishart to Dulles & Grant's. I may remark that the evening at Mrs. Burrage's had not yet come off, owing to a great storm the night of the music party; but another was looming up in the distance.
"Lois," Madge delivered herself as she was taking off her wrappings, "it is a great thing to be rich!"
"One needs to be sick to know how true that is," responded Lois. "If you could guess what I would have given last summer and fall for a few crumbs of the comfort with which this house is stacked full—like hay in a barn!"
"But I am not thinking of comfort."
"I am. How I wanted everything for the sick people at Esterbrooke. Think of not being able to change their bed linen properly, nor anything like properly!"
"Of course," said Madge, "poor people do not have plenty of things. But
I was not thinking of comfort, when I spoke."
"Comfort is the best thing."