Mrs. Verrall, playing the invalid, lay on a sofa, her auburn hair somewhat ruffled, her pretty pink cheeks flushed, her satin slippers peeping out; altogether challenging admiration. The damaged arm, its silk sleeve pinned up, was stretched out on a cushion, a small delicate cambric handkerchief, saturated with water, resting lightly on the burn. A basin of water stood near, with a similar handkerchief lying in it, and Mrs. Verrall's maid was at hand to change the handkerchiefs as might be required. Thomas Godolphin drew a chair near to Mrs. Verrall, and listened to the account of the accident, giving her his full sympathy, for it might have been a bad one. "You must possess great presence of mind," he observed. "I think your showing it, as you have done in this instance, has won Mr. Snow's heart." Mrs. Verrall laughed. "I believe I do possess presence of mind. And so does Charlotte. Once we were out with some friends in a barouche, and the horses took fright, ran up a bank, turned the carriage over, and nearly kicked it to pieces. While all those with us were fearfully frightened, Charlotte and I remained calm and cool." "It is a good thing for you," he observed. "I suppose it is. Better, at any rate, than to go mad with fear, as some do. Cecil"--turning to her--"has had fright enough to last her for a twelvemonth, she says." "Were you present, Cecil?" asked her brother. "I was present, but I did not see it," replied Cecil. "It occurred in Mrs. Verrall's bedroom, and I was standing at the dressing-table, with my back to her. The first thing I knew, or saw, was Mrs. Verrall on the floor with the rug rolled round her." Tea was brought in, and Mrs. Verrall insisted that they should remain for it. Thomas pleaded an engagement, but she would not listen: they could not have the heart, she said, to leave her alone. So Thomas--the very essence of good feeling and politeness--waived his objection and remained. Not the bowing politeness of a _petit maître_, but the genuine consideration that springs from a noble and unselfish heart. "I am in ecstasy that Verrall was away," she exclaimed. "He would have magnified it into something formidable, and I should not have been allowed to stir for a month." "When do you expect him home?" asked Thomas Godolphin. "I never expect him until he comes," replied Mrs. Verrall. "London seems to possess attractions for him. Once up there, he may stay a day, or he may stay fifty. I never know." Cecil went upstairs to put her things on when tea was over, the maid attending her. Mrs. Verrall turned to see that the door was closed, and then spoke abruptly. "Mr. Godolphin, can anything be done to prevent the wind whistling as it does in these passages?" "Does it whistle?" he replied. "The last few nights it has whistled--oh, I cannot describe it to you! If I were not a good sleeper, it would have kept me awake all night. I wish it could be stopped."