"Certainly you can, you needn't ask me. She'll be glad to see you," said Mrs. Colebrook conventionally. "I thought of going up myself, but she has always got those books. Do you think so much reading is good for her--?" "I'm sure it is." "But--well, I don't know. I've never read anything but the Sunday papers, and they've got enough horrors in 'em--but they actually happened. It isn't guesswork like it is in books. I never read a book through in my life. My husband--! Why, when he passed away, there was enough books in the house to fill a room. He'd sooner read than work at any time. He was a bit aristocratic in his way." Sault had come to understand that "aristocratic" did not stand, as Mrs. Colebrook applied the word, for gentleness of birth, but for a loftiness of demeanor in relation to labor. He made his escape up the stairs. Christina was not reading. She lay on her back, her hands lightly folded, and she was inspecting the end bed-rail with a fixity of gaze that indicated to Ambrose how far she was from Walter Street and the loud little boys who played beneath her window. "I have nothing for you today--I haven't been baking." She patted the bed and he sat down. "The osteopath has been, I suppose mother told you? She has the queerest word for him, 'ostymopat'. Yes, he came and saw, or rather, he prodded in a gentle, harmless kind of way, but I fancy that my spine has conquered. He didn't say very much, but seemed to be more interested in the bones of my neck and shoulders than he was in the place where it hurts. He wouldn't tell me anything, I suppose he didn't want to make me feel miserable. Poor, kind soul--after all the uncomplimentary things that have been said about my spinal column!" "He told me," said Ambrose, and something in his face made her open her eyes wide. "What did he say--please tell me--was it good?" He nodded and a beatific smile lightened his face. "You can be cured; completely cured. You will walk in a year or maybe less. He thinks it will take six months to manipulate the bones into their place; he talked about 'breaking down' something, but he didn't mean that he would hurt you. He just meant that he would have to remove--I don't know what it is, but it would be a gradual process and you would feel nothing. He wants your mother to put you into a sort of thin overall before he comes." He lugged a parcel from his pocket. "I bought one--a smock of thick silk. I thought you had better have silk. He works at you through it, and it makes his work easier for him and for you if--anyhow, I got silk, Christina." Her eyes were shining, but she did not look at him. "It doesn't seem possible," she said softly, "and it is going to cost a lot of money--cost you. The silk overall is lovely, but I wouldn't mind if I wore sackcloth. You great soul!" She caught his hand in both of hers and gripped it with a strength that surprised him.