"It don't matter, for no one here appreciates anything better, I
dare say. Where's the baby? I haven't seen that yet," she asked as
they were descending the stairs.
"She's with Dora, I presume," answered Eugenia; and Mrs. Grey
continued--
"Oh, the nurse girl, whom Ella wrote so much, about. Send her in."
But Eugenia was not one to obey orders so peremptorily given, and,
for a long time, Madam Grey and her three daughters waited the
appearance of the nurse girl, who, not knowing that they were in
the parlor, entered it at last, of her own accord, and stood
before them with such a quiet, self-possessed dignity, that even
Mrs. Grey treated her with far more respect than she had the
assuming Eugenia, whose rule, for the time being, was at an end.
Everything had been done wrong; and when Mr. Hastings spoke of
having Ella buried at the foot of the spacious garden, in a quiet,
grassy spot, where trees of evergreen were growing, she held up
her hands in amazement at the idea that her daughter should rest
elsewhere than in the fashionable precincts of Greenwood.
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