Mrs. Horton laughed, the high querulous laugh of the invalid who has already become suspicious and opinionated. “I know what I know, Flissy. All those high-toned doctors want to do is to experiment on me and get Matthew’s money. I know them. You don’t let yourself get taken in by them.” Fliss sat still watching her mother as she lay on the couch, a sodden heap of misery that would make no constructive effort. She looked baffled. Then she rose and unpacked the luxuries which she had brought with her: choice food, invalid comforts, a black satin negligee. “Black!” shrilled the mother. “I’m not dead yet, thank you! Take it away, Flissy. It gives me the creeps.” Fliss went back to the kitchen. “It’s such a comfort to think that you are here, Ellen,” she said, drawing on her gloves. “There’s not a thing I can do to please her. She’s so changed. All that she used to want was a movie and a bridge game. Now the only thing she wants is to talk over her symptoms with some old hag who recommends patent medicines and tells her not to let any one knife her. But it’s rotten for you here, I suppose.” “It’s only temporary. I told the doctor to send a nurse and I’d try to train her in--one of those practical nurses who can do housework and is sort of companionable. I have to get back to Mrs. Harrison, of course.” “Going back there? Why do you, Ellen? Please stick by us now.” “I will, as long as I can, but I promised Mrs. Harrison and she really couldn’t get along without me.” “Let her get some one else.” “I promised her, Fliss. I’ll fix your mother up, but I’ve got to go back to my own place.” Fliss stood up, passing her slim hands over her well-tailored hips, lifting her hand bag delicately from the crowded table. Her face was perplexed. “I’m no good at nursing, you know,” she commented. “No; but we must find some one who is just the right person.” “Do. And I’ll come just as often as I possibly can.” “I would. She’s your mother, Fliss.” Fliss frowned a little and went out into the sunlight. There her step quickened and her face grew gradually brighter. She seemed to be tossing the misery from her at every step. She made some calls, told her hostesses a little plaintively about her worry for her mother, and after having exposed her trouble in several charming and handsome rooms, felt it vastly easier to bear. She succeeded in making it a little more remote, somehow putting it in a better setting. By the time she reached home she could smile without effort, and even tell Matthew, whom she found dressing for dinner, that her mother would probably improve under Ellen’s handling and consent to an operation. “Good.” “If Ellen only stays. She wants to go back to Cecily.” “Wonderful what loyalty Cecily does inspire, isn’t it?” said Matthew ruminatively. “She probably pays Ellen well.”