She insists upon doing everything quietly and with--as she thinks--a sense of leisure, and yet she keeps the whole household in a sense of turmoil and does not know it.

She sits complacently in her pose of prompt action, quietness and rest, and has a tornado all about her.

She is so deluded in her own idea of herself that she does not observe the tornado, and yet she has caused it.

Everybody in her household is tired out with her demands, and she herself is ill, chronically ill.

But she thinks she is at peace, and she is annoyed that others should be tired.
If this woman could open and let out her own interior tornado, which she has kept frozen in there by her false attitude of restful quiet, she would be more ill for a time, but it might open her eyes to the true state of things and enable her to rest to some purpose and to allow her household to rest, too.
It seems, at first thought, strange that in this country, when the right habit of rest is so greatly needed, that the strain of rest should have become in late years one of the greatest defects.