At last one morning Gertrude turned her back on invalid ways. She got up at her usual time; she dismissed her nurse; and in the middle of the morning she came in upon Delia, who, in the desultory temper born of physical strain, was alternately trying to read Marshall's "Economics of Industry," and writing to Lady Tonbridge about anything and everything, except the topics that really occupied her mind. Delia sprang up to get her a shawl, to settle her on the sofa. But Gertrude said impatiently-- "Please don't fuss. I want to be treated now as though I were well--I soon shall be. And anyway I am tired of illness." And she took a plain chair, as though to emphasize what she had said. "I came to talk to you about plans. You're not busy!" "Busy!" The scornful tone was a trifle bitter also, as Gertrude perceived. Delia put aside her book, and her writing-board, and descended to her favourite place on the hearth rug. The two friends surveyed each other. "Gertrude, it's absurd to talk as though you were well!" cried Delia. "You look a perfect wreck!" But there was more in what she saw--in what she felt--than physical wreck. There was a moral and spiritual change, subtler than any physical injury, and probably more permanent. Gertrude Marvell had never possessed any "charm," in the sense in which other leaders of the militant movement possessed it. A clear and narrowly logical brain, the diamond sharpness of an astonishing will, and certain passions of hate, rather than passions of love, had made the strength of her personality, and given her an increasing ascendancy. But these qualities had been mated with a slender physique--trim, balanced, composed--suggesting a fastidious taste, and nerves perfectly under control; a physique which had given special accent and emphasis to her rare outbreaks of spoken violence. Refinement, seemliness, "ladylikeness,"--even Sir Robert Blanchflower in his sorest moments would scarcely have denied her these. In a measure they were there still, but coupled with pathetic signs of some disintegrating and poisonous influence. The face which once, in its pallid austerity, had not been without beauty, had now coarsened, even in emaciation. The features stood out disproportionately; the hair had receded from the temples; something ugly and feverish had been, as it were, laid bare. And composure had been long undermined. The nurse who had just left had been glad to go. Gertrude received Delia's remark with impatience. "Do please let my looks alone! As if you could boast!" The speaker's smile softened as she looked at the girl's still bandaged arm, and pale cheeks. "That in fact is what I wanted to say, Delia. You ought to be going home. You want the country and the garden. And I, it seems--so this tiresome Doctor says--ought to have a fortnight's sea." "Oh--" said Delia, with a sudden flush. "So you think we ought to give up the flat? Why can't I come with you to the sea?"