"Dinner will be ready in a minute, but I shouldn't change my dress if I were you." Gabriella rose slowly to a sitting position, and then stood up while she pushed the camphor away.

"I hate the smell of it," she answered; "it makes me think of one of Jane's attacks.

And, besides, I don't need it.
There is nothing in the world the matter with me." A moment later, to Miss Polly's unspeakable amazement, she sank down again, flung her arms over the back of the sofa, and burst into tears.
"Well, I never!" ejaculated Miss Polly, rooted to the spot.

"Well, I never!" In the ten years she had lived with Gabriella she had never seen her cry--not even after George's flight--and she felt as if the solid ground on which she stood had crumbled without warning, and left her insecurely balanced in space.

"Something certainly must be wrong, for it ain't like you to give way.