Society, even when represented
by a maid-of-all-work, cannot do away with the intrusion of domestic
griefs, or any other griefs, and in our hearts we know it and act up to
it. Far gone, indeed, must we be in mental or physical agony before we
abandon the attempt to keep up appearances.
Augusta drank a little tea and ate a very small bit of bread-and-butter.
As in the case of Mr. Meeson, the events of the day had not tended to
increase her appetite. Jeannie drank a little milk but ate nothing. When
this form had been gone through, and the maid-of-all-work had once more
made her appearance and cleared the table, Jeannie spoke again.
"Gus," she said, "I want you to put me to bed and then come and read to
me out of 'Jemima's Vow'--where poor Jemima dies, you know. It is the
most beautiful thing in the book, and I want to hear it again."
Her sister did as she wished, and, taking down "Jemima's Vow," Jeannie's
_own_ copy as it was called, being the very first that had come into the
house, she opened it at the part Jeannie had asked for and read aloud,
keeping her voice as steady as she could. As a matter of fact, however,
the scene itself was as powerful as it was pathetic, and quite sufficient
to account for any unseemly exhibitions of feeling on the part of the
reader.
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