"I don't want to interfere with any of your arrangements," whispered the
Rector, "but I think perhaps I ought to tell you that Mrs. Ramsay is no
great housewife. She is a queer little flighty thing. She spends her time
in trying to write plays and bothering managers. There's no harm in her,
and he's very fond of her. But it is an untidy, dirty little house! And
nothing ever happens at the right time. My sister said I must warn you.
She's had it on her mind--as she's had a good deal of experience of Mrs.
Ramsay. And I believe Lady Cynthia has another plan."
Buntingford thanked him, remembering opportunely that when he had
proposed to Ramsay to take the boy into his house, the doctor had
accepted with a certain hesitation, which had puzzled him. "I will go
over and see my cousin when I can be spared."
But a sudden call from the sickroom startled them both. Buntingford
hurried forward.
When Buntingford entered he found the patient lying in a deep
old-fashioned chair propped up by pillows. She had been supplied with the
simplest of night-gear by Miss Alcott, and was wearing besides a blue
cotton overall or wrapper in which the Rector's sister was often
accustomed to do her morning's work.
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