The Brewst She Brewed

"Impossible," she said.

"You must, Rachel dear; indeed, you must."

"As if I could leave her."

"Nay, Rachel, but if you would only send--"

"Nonsense, Grace; if I can stay with her I can restore her far better
than could an allopathist, who would not leave nature to herself. O
Grace, why can't you leave me in peace? Is it not bad enough without
this?"

"Dear Rachel, I am very sorry; but if you did not come down to dinner,
think of the talk it would make."

"Let them talk."

"Ah, Rachel, but the mother! Think how dreadful the day's work has been
to her; and how can she ever get through the evening if she is in a
fright at your not coming down?"

"Dinner parties are one of the most barbarous institutions of past
stupidity," said Rachel, and Grace was reassured. She hovered over
Rachel while Rachel hovered over the sick child, and between her own
exertions and those of two maids, had put her sister into an evening
dress by the time the first carriage arrived. She then rushed to her own
room, made her own toilette, and returned to find Rachel in conference
with Mrs. Kelland, who had come home at last, and was to sit with her
niece during the dinner. Perhaps it was as well for all parties that
this first interview was cut very short, but Rachel's burning cheeks did
not promise much for the impression of ease and indifference she was to
make, as Grace's whispered reminders of "the mother's" distress dragged
her down stairs among the all too curious glances of the assembled
party.