Persuasion (The Wild and Wanton Edition) by Micah Persell Page A

sick-room than Charles, for I cannot be always scolding and teazing the poor child when it is ill; and you saw, this morning, that if I told him to keep quiet, he was sure to begin kicking about. I have not nerves for the sort of thing.”
    “But, could you be comfortable yourself, to be spending the whole evening away from the poor boy?”
    “Yes; you see his papa can, and why should not I? Jemima is so careful; and she could send us word every hour how he was. I really think Charles might as well have told his father we would all come. I am not more alarmed about little Charles now than he is. I was dreadfully alarmed yesterday, but the case is very different to-day.”
    “Well,” Anne looked at her lap, “if you do not think it too late to give notice for yourself, suppose you were to go, as well as your husband. Leave little Charles to my care.” Anne dared to look at Mary. “Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove cannot think it wrong while I remain with him.” Any worry Anne had over her motives being discovered for wanting to stay behind vanished as Mary’s face lit.
    “Are you serious?” cried Mary, her eyes brightening. “Dear me! that’s a very good thought, very good, indeed. To be sure, I may just as well go as not, for I am of no use at home — am I? and it only harasses me. You, who have not a mother’s feelings, are a great deal the properest person.” Anne could not prevent a wince — motherhood had once been her greatest wish — but Mary did not notice. “You can make little Charles do anything; he always minds you at a word. It will be a great deal better than leaving him only with Jemima. Oh! I shall certainly go; I am sure I ought if I can, quite as much as Charles, for they want me excessively to be acquainted with Captain Wentworth, and I know you do not mind being left alone.” Anne did not bother to correct her. “An excellent thought of yours, indeed, Anne. I will go and tell Charles, and get ready directly. You can send for us, you know, at a moment’s notice, if anything is the matter; but I dare say there will be nothing to alarm you. I should not go, you may be sure, if I did not feel quite at ease about my dear child.”
    The next moment she was tapping at her husband’s dressing-room door, and as Anne followed her up stairs, she was in time for the whole conversation, which began with Mary’s saying, in a tone of great exultation —
    “I mean to go with you, Charles, for I am of no more use at home than you are. If I were to shut myself up for ever with the child, I should not be able to persuade him to do anything he did not like. Anne will stay; Anne undertakes to stay at home and take care of him. It is Anne’s own proposal, and so I shall go with you, which will be a great deal better, for I have not dined at the other house since Tuesday.”
    “This is very kind of Anne,” was her husband’s answer, “and I should be very glad to have you go; but it seems rather hard that she should be left at home by herself, to nurse our sick child.”
    Anne was now at hand to take up her own cause, and the sincerity of her manner being soon sufficient to convince him, where conviction was at least very agreeable, he had no farther scruples as to her being left to dine alone, though he still wanted her to join them in the evening, when the child might be at rest for the night, and kindly urged her to let him come and fetch her, but she was quite unpersuadable; and this being the case, she had ere long the pleasure of seeing them set off together in high spirits. They were gone, she hoped, to be happy, however oddly constructed such happiness might seem; as for herself, she was left with as many sensations of comfort, as were, perhaps, ever likely to be hers. She knew herself to be of the first utility to the child; and what was it to her if Frederick Wentworth were only half a mile distant, making himself agreeable to others?
    She would have liked to know how he felt as to a meeting. Perhaps