"Nothing radically wrong—yet," he said; "but if any mischief should set in, things would go hardly with her." Sometimes he added—"If one could find a new interest—anything to rouse her!" The question was, what interest? Change of scene had already been tried, and the slender Elvey purse would not submit to unlimited drains. "I don't want to go away again. I only want to be quiet," Ethel had said, smiling, that very morning. But she looked thin, and the white lids drooped wearily over the tired blue eyes, though it was yet early in the day. Her slender hands, after a vain attempt at work, were resting languidly one over the other. "Ethel, my dear, here is somebody come to see you," Mr. Elvey's cheery voice said at the door. "Come in, please," Ethel answered, not moving. She had often received callers lying down of late. Mr. Elvey vanished, and Ethel could hear him speaking: "Yes, yes; she'll be delighted. Does her good to see fresh faces. She looks sadly to-day, poor child! I'm afraid I must be off, but do stay with her as long as you can." Then to Ethel's astonishment, Fulvia Rolfe walked in—Fulvia Rolfe, cheerful and composed, apparently well in health, and handsomely dressed. She had taken particular pains with herself that morning. Fulvia, had no notion of acting the "love-lorn damsel," with careless attire and dishevelled locks, for people to gossip about. Even before Anice and Daisy, the previous evening, she had carried matters with a high hand, resolutely making it appear that she and Nigel separated with equal willingness. It was "much better so," she answered lightly to any manner of condolence. She would release Nigel, but she would not submit to be pitied. If her eyes were a little heavy with midnight tears, who could wonder, after so severe an illness? "Don't move—" and Fulvia bent for a kiss. "I have come to thank you." "There is nothing to thank for!" "One does not generally count it 'nothing' to have one's life saved—especially at the risk of—" "Please don't say any more!" "Well, if it distresses you; but I shall never forget! How is the wrist?" "Oh, nearly well." "And you are so poorly still." Fulvia took a seat as she spoke. "I don't know—only tired." "Always tired?" "Yes. It doesn't matter. I can't get strong, somehow." "So they tell me. You want change." "I would rather stay at home." "You want change," repeated Fulvia. "Ethel, will you say 'yes' to a plan I have in my head?" "I—don't know."