'I'm just frightened of--everything--what everybody expects me to do, and to go on doing all my life, and never have any time but to just hurry faster and faster, so there'll be more things to hurry about, and never talk about anything but _things!_' She began to tremble and look white, and stopped with a desperate effort to control herself, though she burst out at the sight of Mrs. Mortimer's face of despairing bewilderment. 'Oh, don't tell me you don't see at all what I mean. I can't say it! But you _must_ understand. Can't we somehow all stop--_now!_ And start over again! You get muslin curtains and not mend your lace ones, and Mother stop fussing about whom to invite to that party--that's going to cost more than he can afford, Father says--it makes me _sick_ to be costing him so much. And not fuss about having clothes just so--and Paul have our house built little and plain, so it won't be so much work to take care of it and keep it clean. I would so much rather look after it myself than to have him kill himself making money so I can hire maids that you _can't_--you say yourself you can't--and never having any time to see him. Perhaps if we did, other people might, and we'd all have more time to like things that make us nicer to like. And when her sister tried to comfort her she continued: 'You do see what I mean! You see how dreadful it is to look forward to just that--being so desperately troubled over things that don't really matter--and--and perhaps having children, and bringing them to the same thing--when there must be so many things that do matter!' Then, to show how perfectly her sister understood, the author makes that wise and perceptive woman exclaim: 'Mercy! Dr. Melton's right! She's perfectly wild with nerves! We must get her married as soon as ever we can!' Lydia gives a reception. Here is part of the description: Standing as they were, tightly pressed in between a number of different groups, their ears were assaulted by a disjointed mass of stentorian conversation that gave a singular illusion as if it all came from one inconceivably voluble source, the individuality of the voices being lost in the screaming enunciation which, as Mrs. Sandworth had pointed out, was a prerequisite of self-expression under the circumstances.