Convalescence

"Yes, yes, I know," Agnes said at last, impatiently, weary of hearing
of the cottage whose humble exterior and interior she knew so much
better than Jessie herself.

But this was not to be divulged; for surely the haughty Agnes
Remington, who, in Boston, aspired to lead in society into which, as
the wife of Dr. Remington, she had been admitted, and who, in
Aikenside, was looked upon with envy, could have nothing in common
with the red cottage or its inmates. So when Jessie asked again if she
could not visit Maddy on the morrow, she answered decidedly: "No,
daughter, no. I do not wish you to associate with such people," and
when Jessie insisted on knowing why she must not associate with such
people as Maddy Clyde, the answer was: "Because you are a Remington,"
and as if this of itself were of an unanswerable objection, Agnes sent
her child from her, refusing to talk longer on a subject so
disagreeable to her and so suggestive of the past. It was all in vain
that Jessie, and even Guy himself, tried to revoke the decision.
Jessie should not be permitted to come in contact with that kind of
people, she said, or incur the risk of catching that dreadful fever.

So day after day, while life and health were slowly throbbing through
her veins, Maddy waited and longed for the little girl whose one visit
to her sick room seemed so much like a dream. From her grandfather she
had heard the good news of Guy Remington's generosity, and that, quite
as much as Dr. Holbrook's medicines, helped to bring the color back to
the pallid cheek and the brightness to her eyes.