"I'm sorry I grumbled--it was wrong of me when I'm so well off. I do try to be good, but I was always impatient--you used to laugh when I said so, but it was true. This illness may be just what I need--`They also serve, who only stand and wait'--I think so often of that line, and try to wait in patience, but it is hard--the hardest thing in the world, sometimes!" "Yes," said Miles quietly, "the very hardest?" CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. EXPLANATIONS. It was a very happy week. The weather was all that could be desired for a seaside holiday,--bright yet not glaring, warm but not hot. The hotel was everything that was luxurious and comfortable, and, last and best of all, Cynthia kept bright and happy, and was better--not worse--for the visits of her old friends. Every morning Betty accompanied Miles up to the villa, leaving Mr Gerard and Jill busy playing tennis, roving about on the shore, or engaged in that other engrossing occupation of throwing stones. For the first day or two she made excuses, and strolled away to join Mrs Alliot, but it soon became apparent to her quick senses that neither that lady nor, strangely enough, Miles himself encouraged these well- meant excursions. So for the rest of the time she sat in the shelter by Cynthia's couch, and joined frankly in the conversation. Sometimes Miles would be silent for almost the whole morning, listening while the two friends talked together as girls will--a pretty, innocent, sweet- hearted chatter of home and friends and books and dresses, and "Do you remember," and "Oh, just suppose," which unconsciously revealed the character of both. Absorbed as he was in Cynthia and all that belonged to her, Miles was more than once arrested by Betty herself, and asked himself if it could be true or only imagination that she had gained immensely in beauty, softness, and general charm since his return five weeks ago. There was an expression on her face in these last days which transfigured the old Betty into something a hundred times sweeter and more attractive. Happiness enveloped her as an atmosphere,--an almost tremulous happiness, as of one fearful of her own joy. Miles felt assured that Cynthia noticed this new development as he did himself, as he saw the grey eyes rest on her friend's face with a tender wistfulness of gaze, and heard the fluttering sigh with which she turned aside. Never again had Cynthia breathed a word of complaint for her own limitations. After that first involuntary outburst she had carefully steered clear of the subject of self, and thrown herself heart and soul into her companion's interest. It was only when the last day of the short visit had been reached that she alluded to her own plans.