Lucy unloaded her jellies
and her febrifuges, Mr. Crawley frowning at her bitterly the while.
It had come to this with him, that food had been brought into his
house, as an act of charity, in his very presence, and in his heart
of hearts he disliked Lucy Robarts in that she had brought it.
He could not cause the jars and the pots to be replaced in the
pony-carriage, as he would have done had the position of his wife
been different. In her state it would have been barbarous to refuse
them, and barbarous also to have created the _fracas_ of a refusal;
but each parcel that was introduced was an additional weight laid on
the sore withers of his pride, till the total burden became almost
intolerable. All this his wife saw and recognized even in her
illness, and did make some slight ineffectual efforts to give him
ease; but Lucy in her new power was ruthless, and the chicken to
make the chicken-broth was taken out of the basket under his very
nose. But Lucy did not remain long. She had made up her mind what
it behoved her to do herself, and she was soon ready to return to
Framley. "I shall be back again, Mr. Crawley," she said, "probably
this evening, and I shall stay with her till she is better." "Nurses
don't want rooms," she went on to say, when Mr.
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