“Well, that’s the odd thing about ill health, Greg—­you haven’t any chance to answer back,” she answered thoughtfully.  “If money could make me well, or if effort could, I’d get well, of course!  But there seem to be times when you simply are sick.  It’s an extraordinary experience to me; it’s extraordinary to lie here, and think of all the hundreds of thousands of other women who are sick, just simply and quietly laid low with no by-your-leave!  Of course, my being ill doesn’t make much trouble; the boys are cared for, the house goes on, and I don’t suffer!  But suppose we were poor, and the children needed me, and you couldn’t afford a nurse--then what?  For I’d have to collapse and lie here just the same!”

“It’s no snap for me,” Warren grumbled after a silence.  “Gosh!  I will be glad when you’re well—­and when the damn nurse is out of the house!”

“Warren, I thought you liked Miss Snow!”

“Well, I do, I suppose—­in a way.  But I don’t like her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—­so everlastingly sweet and fresh!’ I declare I believe my watch is losing time—­this is the third time this week I’ve been late!’”

This was said in exactly Miss Snow’s tone, and Rachael laughed.

But when he was gone a deep depression fell upon her.  Dear old boy, it was not much of a life for him, going about alone, sitting down to his meals with only a trained nurse for company!  Shut away so deliciously from the world with her husband and sons, enjoying the very helplessness that forced her to lean so heavily upon him, she had forgotten how hard it was for Greg!

Yet how could she get well when the stubborn weakness and languor persisted, when her nights were so long and sleepless, her appetite so slight, her strength so quickly exhausted?

“When do you think I will get well, Miss Snow?” she would ask.

“Come, now, we’re not going to bother our heads about that,” Miss Snow would say cheerfully.  “Why, you’re not sick!  You’ve just got to rest and take care of yourself, that’s all!  Dear me, if you were suffering every minute of the time, you might have something to grumble about!”

Doctor Valentine was equally unsatisfactory, although Rachael loved the simple, homely man so much that she could not be vexed by his kindly vagueness: 

“These things are slow to fight, Rachael,” said George Valentine.  “Alice had just such a fight years ago.  When the human machinery runs down, there’s nothing for it but patience!  You did too much last winter, nursing the baby until you left for California, and then only the hot summer between that and September!  Just go slow!”

Perhaps once a month Magsie came in to see Rachael, ready to pour tea, to flirt with any casual caller, or to tickle the roaring baby with the little fox head on her muff.  She had been playing in a minor part in a successful production.  Among all the callers who came and went perhaps Magsie was the most at home in the Gregory house—­a harmless little affectionate creature, unimportant, but always welcome.