Rotha obeyed, moving with the utmost delicacy of soft and quiet movements. She made the foot comfortable; rang the bell, and desired the kettle to be brought; and noiselessly arranged the table when the servant had set the tea things upon it She made the tea then; and had just cut a slice of bread and put it upon the toasting fork, when the door opened and in came Mrs. Cord, her arms full of cloths and vials and a basin of water. Rotha dropped the toasting fork and sprang towards her.
"What do you want?" she said. "What are you going to do?"
Her accent and action were so striking, that the woman paused, startled.
"There's a sprained ankle here—I'm coming to see it."
"No, you are not," said Rotha with great decision. "I have done all that is necessary, and I am going to do all that is necessary. I can do it as well as anybody; and I do not want you. You may carry all those things away, Mrs. Cord. Mr. Digby is asleep; he is better."
"You don't want me, maybe, Rotha, but Mr. Digby does. I've got what he wants here, and I knows my business. My business is to take care of him." She would have passed on.
"Stand back!" said Rotha, barring her way. "I tell you, he don't want you, and you are not coming. Stand back! Take your things away. I will manage all that is done here myself. You may go!"—The tone and action were utterly and superbly imperious.
The woman paused again, yielding before the slight girl, as matter always does yield to mind.
"What new sort o' behaviour is this?" she said however in high offence. "You to tell me what I'm to do and not do! You're takin' a good deal upon you, my young lady!"
"I take it," said Rotha, supremely. "Go! and send the girl here, if you please. I heard her go up stairs just now. I want her to make a piece of toast."