Free Maris by Grace Livingston Hill

beneath this honey flow.
    "Yes?" said Maris apprehensively.
    "You poor child!" said the voice caressingly. "You certainly are having a terrific time! We have felt it for you all day and have been talking over ways and means. By the way, I hope your mother is much better by this time and your mind is relieved?"
    "No, Mrs. Thorpe. She isn't any better," said Maris sorrowfully. "I'm afraid the doctor doesn't expect her to be really better very soon. She just isn't any worse this afternoon, and that is an encouragement, of course. It is very kind of you to inquire."
    "Oh, not at all. Of course, we were much disturbed by the news this morning, but I do trust that your doctor is wrong and she will soon be better. But you have a competent nurse, haven't you?"
    "Yes, we have a good nurse," said Maris perfunctorily, wishing this homily would draw to a finish and she could go and rest.
    "Well, that's half the battle, of course," said Mrs. Thorpe. "And your little sister? Is it really measles? What a pity! She will be so disappointed not to be in the wedding procession. But a child soon forgets, and I'm sure my little granddaughter will be delighted to take her place, so you don't need to worry about that. And now, my dear, Tilford was obliged to go unexpectedly over to the clubhouse to meet a man on business, and he asked me to call you up and remind you that you and he had an engagement this evening. I told him I didn't think it would be necessary, you are always so punctilious about your engagements, but I promised I would call. I suppose you remember Tilford's sister Irma is expecting you for dinner this evening at eight, don't you?"
    Maris paused, aghast. Did they actually expect her to attend another ghastly family dinner when she was in the midst of anxiety and sickness?
    Maris took a deep breath and waited a second to steady her voice.
    "Yes, I knew we had the engagement," she said slowly, choosing her words, "but I supposed, of course, Tilford would make my apologies. I should have called up myself, but every minute has been filled with such anxiety and hard work that it hadn't occurred to me I should have let Irma know. I'm sorry. I hope she'll forgive me, and I'm sure she'll understand. I'll phone right away and ask her forgiveness. It is terrible, but of course if she knew the circumstances she wouldn't expect me to come."
    "But, my dear! You can't get out of a dinner engagement like that! You know that is one thing one has to do if one is alive, to keep a dinner engagement! No, Irma does not know anything about the series of upsets you have been having today. I purposely didn't tell her because I was sure you would see your duty and not cause her embarrassment. Besides, my dear, Tilford and I have arranged everything for you. We have secured a charming young nurse who is a specialist with children, and she will be at your house at five o'clock and take full charge of the little sister until she is well again. And at six o'clock Tilford will be there with the car to bring you and your suitcases, for, my child, you are to stay with us until the wedding! We felt that it was imperative that you have your rest beforehand. We don't want a washed out––looking bride. Of course, you can run down and see your mother every day or two if you feel that it's necessary, and for the rest, I shall take charge of you and see that you live a normal, unhurried, carefree life. Besides, my dear, you must realize there are a number of showers and parties that you are expected to attend during the next three weeks, affairs that are made for you and are dependent on your presence for their success. Your friends and Tilford's have gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to show you their love and appreciation, and it would be the rudest thing possible for you to utterly spoil their parties now when it is too late to recall them. Besides, it can't possibly do your mother any good for you to mope in the house until she is well. I'm sure