At 9.15 every morning Miss Dorset brought up the letters, and waited quietly by the bedside, watching the unsteady fingers tearing open the envelopes and slowly withdrawing the rustling sheets. It would have been easy to offer help, but Miss Dorset was infinitely patient. "Mrs. Greene likes to do little things for herself," she would explain. "It takes a few moments longer, but she has a great deal of leisure, you know." And Helen--it was generally Helen who expostulated at delay, and was ready with her facile, "Let me do it, Granny,"--must needs restrain herself and watch the number of laborious trembling movements that were necessary to perform any simple action. This morning Miss Dorset remembering Mrs. Greene's extreme fatigue on the previous night, looked anxiously at her face as she took the letters, but made no comment. Mrs. Greene, however, answered the unspoken question, "I had a good night, thank you, and I'm not tired to-day." She laid a hand on Miss Dorset's arm and added: "You're a nice restful creature to have about." A deep, unbecoming flush spread over Miss Dorset's sallowness at the unusual tribute, but she only said quietly: "Thank you, I'm very happy here with you," and then waited with folded hands for any news or instructions to be imparted to her. It was a long time before Mrs. Greene leaned back on her pillow and allowed a neat and closely written letter to slip from her fingers on to the bed. She was worrying. A thousand tiny lines creased her forehead, and she pushed back her scanty white hair with a gesture reminiscent of the days when heavy dark wings smooth and shining like Lavinia's, had swept down from her middle parting to cover the ears that now jutted out like excrescences on her shrunken skull. "It's not a good idea," she said with an unusual tremor in her voice. "It's a sentimental idea and the children don't hold with sentiment and anniversaries and such like, and it will be very difficult for me. In fact if Edith weren't so set on it, I wouldn't think of going, but you know how my daughter-in-law must always have her way." "Is it a letter from Mrs. Rodney that is worrying you?" asked Miss Dorset. "I told you it was," answered Mrs. Greene. "Here, you'd better read it." She picked up the letter and handed it to Miss Dorset. 207, Sussex Square. Nov. 9th. My dear Mrs. Greene,