“But do you not think that Aunt Flora should see a doctor? The pain is so agonising that she seems quite stupid and dazed!” “A doctor—no,” he replied; “she would not allow him inside the compound; her complaint comes and goes after the manner of its kind; just now it has been troublesome and this damp climate is bad for neuralgia. Your aunt refuses to leave home, and so there it is! Lily knows the remedies; she has been with us for years, and I have every confidence in her nursing.” After this Sophy realised that there was nothing more to be said or done, but patiently to await her aunt’s recovery. It was now the cool weather and, by degrees, Mrs. Krauss was able to leave her bed and repose in a long chair in the veranda. As her husband predicted, Sophy’s company was a wonderful help towards her convalescence. She liked to hear all the news from May Myo about the people, their clothes, their doings and their gaieties. She even roused herself to play patience and picquet, to read, to enjoy Sophy’s music, but she showed no inclination to emerge into society, or receive friends. “You must go about and amuse yourself, Sophy; I do not feel up to motoring round, as I did last winter, but I won’t keep you cooped up here with me—then we should have, not one invalid, but two. You must enjoy your young days, mix with other young people, dance and ride, bring me the gossip and tell me all your love affairs, honour bright! Mrs. Gregory has promised to chaperon you until I am better.” “No, indeed, Aunt Flora, I’d much rather stay with you,” she protested. “I could not enjoy myself half so much if you are not with me. Don’t you remember how nice it was last year, talking over everything together after dances and the theatre? I will play to you and read aloud, and if I ride in the morning, that will be as much outing as I shall require.” But in spite of Sophy’s anxious protestations, once more her aunt consigned her to the charge of Mrs. Gregory, who, delighted in the responsibility, escorted her to dances and tennis parties, rode with her, and proved, in spite of the disparity in their years, a dear and congenial friend.