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"I cannot give it to her," said Rosamund. "If she takes it she must have contracted the infection herself, owing to¡ª¡ªBut there, I won't say any more. Let us hope for the best. I must go to her now, however."
Mrs. Brett, if she had a plain face, had by no means a correspondingly plain soul. On the contrary, it was attuned to the best, the richest, the highest in God's world. She could see the loveliness of trees, of river, of flowers. She could listen to the song of the wild birds, and thank her Maker that she was born into so good a world. Nothing rested her, as she expressed it, like a visit into the country. Nothing made the dreadful things she had often to encounter in town seem more endurable than the sweet-peas, the roses, the green trees, the green grass, the fragrance and perfume of the country; and when she saw her little niece¡ªfor she was very fond of Lucy¡ªlooking discontented and unhappy, Mrs. Brett at once perceived a reason for her unexpected visit to Sunnyside.
"People had better not try!" thought Lucy. "But, my fine Irene, somebody is going to try."
"I could not do so," she thought, "while Jane lay between life and death, when there was a strong chance of the school at Sunnyside not existing any more. But now I must write to dear mother and tell her the truth."
There was no Agnes there. But a huge hedgehog had curled itself up in a ball close to the pillow where the little delicate head had been pressed. Irene was afraid of no living creature, and she recognized the hedgehog at once. She took it up and laid it on the window-sill. Then she looked round her. Her face was white as death; her teeth chattered. She suddenly left the room and went straight to Lucy's. She opened the door without knocking.
"Well, now we have to think of the holidays," said Rosamund. "I have something to tell you, Irene. You have been good¡ªvery good; but all our goodness is worth nothing until it has been tried. Yours has not been tried yet."