Though young in appearance, he was several years older than his cousin Howard, a man of skilful fingers and of few words, not in the least good-looking, but pleasant-mannered. He spent some time with Euphrasia, putting her to as little pain as could consist with needful examination of her injuries. Euphrasia endured bravely, and waited for the opportunity of a brief tête-à-tête with him to ask in earnest tones, "Will it be much? How soon may I go home?" "It is an awkward twist," Mr. Wells said in answer. "Everything depends on perfect rest from the first." "But I may get up to-morrow morning?" "Certainly not. This knee has to be kept entirely still. I don't think you would advance far in your dressing, if you made the attempt; and you must not make the attempt. You will feel very stiff all over to-morrow, apart from the knee." "But staying in bed means giving trouble, and I can't bear to do that. I would rather go home to be nursed, please." The doctor looked her over gravely, asked, "Where is your home?"—Then said, "H'm!" "I can't stay here to be a bother. I don't know Mrs. Johnston well enough. I couldn't bear to give such trouble to strangers. May I go home to-morrow?" He shook his head. "Then on Monday—I may go on Monday!" Another shake. "It isn't such a very long journey; and only one change. Somebody could meet me there, and I might be helped in and out of the train. I would not make any fuss, really." "I am sure you would not. But this knee must have a few days of absolute rest. You don't want to be troubled with it for months to come. There is nothing like taking a thing in time." "Only a few days! Not more, you are sure?" "I'll tell you that when I see the effect of the few days." Further questioning failed to bring a more definite answer. Euphrasia lay after his departure, conning over his words, trying to extract some comfort from them. If not Monday, then Tuesday, or Wednesday at the latest! To lie here, giving "no end of trouble and bother" to people who did not care in the slightest for her personally—no, not even Letitia!—seemed unendurable! "I can't do it; oh, I can't," she said aloud. "It is too dreadful. If only I were at home. If only I had never come. Oh, I can't stay here! And I don't see the need. The pain isn't so very bad, except when I move. I couldn't stay here to be nursed!" But one often has to do in life just that thing which one most shrinks from. The doctor's reticence was of small avail. Letitia presently came in, by her mother's desire, not as it appeared too willingly. She stood at the foot of the bed, and in moody tones said— "Well, you've done for yourself now, at any rate!" "I couldn't help falling, Letitia."