"Give me horses," she said. "By-and-by, when I am in my little grave, I have no doubt folk will be switchbacked to America and home again; but I hate experiments--I am a little too old for them--and the best car that is made is only a thing on trial, you know." She helped Camilla to slip out of the big coat. "Fortunately, you were well wrapped up," she said. "But _what_ a weight this coat is, Camilla! How can you walk in it at all? When did you get it? I have not seen it before!" "Oh, haven't you?" queried Mrs. Lancing, in a tone of very real astonishment. "Why, I have had it _ages_; got it at a Veronique sale. It was absurdly cheap." She told these various untruths quite glibly, and then made haste to get away from the subject. She was not a little afraid of Mrs. Brenton at times, although, indeed, she would have been singularly ungrateful--and Camilla was never ungrateful--if she had not realized that in this old friend--one who had known her when she was a mere child--she had a staunch and a loving ally--a friend who in sickness and in health gave her almost an anxious affection, and whose curiosity to know what was passing with her arose from the best motives. But Camilla always dreaded being compelled to answer questions, or having to give an account of herself; she was so weary of having good advice given her. Of what use, so she argued to herself, would it be to let Agnes know how worried she was, and into what a hopeless muddle her pretty feet had strayed? "Agnes cannot help me," she said to herself; "and she would only worry and think the end of all things had come if I were to tell her how I stand just now. And then she would scold, and talk about the future solemnly, and oh! I know I should scream if she started the old discussion to-night; my nerves are all on wires! If she _could_ help me it would be another matter, but I suppose a five-pound note would be about the utmost poor old Agnes could produce in an emergency." And Camilla shrugged her shoulders. Just before leaving town for Yelverton she had spent her last available five pounds at a hair-dresser's, while, at the same time, a writ for the sables she had worn so becomingly that day had been sent to her by registered post that morning. She threw off her hat and veil. "I am rather anxious, Agnes," she said. "I have had no letter from nurse to-day." Mrs. Brenton took the bait instantly. "Anxious? What about? There is no need to fuss yourself; nurse never does write freely." "She promised faithfully to send me word every day," said Mrs. Lancing, half fretfully. "Well, look here, I'll go and telephone through for you," said the other woman; "with just a little luck I shall find the line clear. The rush is off about this time, as a rule." Mrs. Lancing had slipped from her outdoor clothes into a very pretty dressing-gown by the time the telephone conversation was at an end.