Georgie must be fresh and bright for the next evening’s party; Georgie could not afford to peril her beauty by nursing a sick child who wanted her, and so she made herself believe that there was no immediate danger threatening the little girl, and she staid at home, and sent Maude in her stead, with injunctions to pass the night, if necessary, but to send back a correct account of Annie’s condition, and excuse her to Jack as far as practicable. “More comfortable, but very sorry not to see you. I shall stay all night, as will Miss Overton, also. Please get word to Mrs. Churchill.” This was Maude’s message, which Georgie read aloud to Roy, whose interest in Annie’s illness arose more from the fact that it had taken and was keeping Miss Overton away; and, handsome and elegant as were his rooms at the Worth House, they were not quite the same without the hired companion. “I hope Miss Overton will not think of sitting up to-night. She does not seem very strong, and I want her to be as fresh as possible for the party,” he said, and his manner betrayed even more annoyance than his words. There was a threatening look in Georgie’s eyes, and a very little impatience in her voice, as she said: “I suppose I ought to have gone myself, and so spared Miss Overton.” “Certainly not,” Roy said, earnestly. “It is more to me that you should look your best, and watching is not conducive to that. I trust, however, that nothing will keep Miss Overton to-morrow.” He would persist in bringing in Miss Overton, and Georgie fumed with inward rage and hate of the girl at that very moment bending over Annie’s couch, and wiping the moisture from the pale, damp forehead. Annie was very sick; so sick indeed, that although she expressed pleasure at seeing Edna, she manifested no surprise and did not ask where she came from. Neither did she say much when told that Georgie had not come, but with a low, moaning cry she turned her face to the wall, while her body trembled with the sobs she tried to suppress. When Maude came she seemed better, and nestling close to her, laid her head upon her arm and appeared to sleep quietly. And while she slept, or seemed to, Jack freed his mind with regard to Georgie’s selfishness. It had always been so, he said. She had left to others what she ought to have done herself. “Why, my mother, who was in no ways connected to Annie, did far more for her than Georgie, even when she lived at home,” he said, and then the great blue eyes opened wonderingly, and fixed themselves upon Jack’s face, while Annie said faintly: “Your mother—not mine too,—Jack? Did you say that?” Jack was in a hard, desperate mood, and reckless of consequences, he replied: “I did say it. Your mother was a far different woman from mine.” “Oh, Jack,” and Annie put both her hands beseechingly toward him. “Oh Jack, who was mother, then, and where is she now, tell me?” she cried, while Maude and Edna both looked up reprovingly, and the former said: