compassion and vexation. She repeated her question to Miss Bentley, who
came down almost immediately, looking pale, indeed, but steady, and
making a brave show of welcome.

"My mother would have wished it," she said, "and she sent me as soon as
she knew who it was. You mustn't be distressed," she entreated, with a
pathetic smile. "It's really a kind of relief to her; anything is that
takes her mind off herself for a moment. She will be so sorry to miss
you, and you must come again as soon as you can."

"Oh, we will, we will!" cried my wife, in nothing less than a passion of
meekness; and Miss Bentley went on to comfort her.

"It's dreadful, of course, but it isn't as bad as it sounds, and it
isn't nearly so bad as it looks. She is used to it, and there is a great
deal in that. Oh, _don't_ go!" she begged, at a movement Mrs. March made
to rise. "The doctor is with her just now, and I'm not needed. It will
be kind if you'll stay; it's a relief to be out of the room with a good
excuse!" She even laughed a little as she said this; she went on to lead
the talk away from what was so intensely in our minds, and presently I
heard her and my wife speaking of other things. The power to do this is
from some heroic quality in women's minds that we do not credit them
with; we think it their volatility, and I dare say I thought myself much
better, or at least more serious in my make, because I could not follow
them, and did not lose one of those hoarse gasps of the sufferer
overhead. Occasionally there came a stifling cry that made me jump,
inwardly if not outwardly, but those women had their drama to play, and
they played it to the end.

Miss Bentley came hospitably to the door with us, and waited there till