He went on speaking, but Bee did not hear him; everything floated around her in a mist. The scenes at the Bath, the agitations, Mrs. Kingsward’s sudden pallors and flushings, her pretence, which they all laughed at, of not being able to walk; her laziness, lying on the sofa, the giddiness when she made that one turn with Charlie, she who had always been so fond of dancing; the hurry of bringing her to Kingswarden when Bee had felt they would have been so much better in London, and her strange, strange new fancy, mutely condemned by Bee, of finding the children too much for her. Half of these things had been silently remarked and disapproved of by the daughters. Mamma getting so idle--self-indulgent almost, so unlike herself! Had they not been too busily engaged in their own affairs, Bee and Betty would both have been angry with mamma. All these things seem to float about Bee in a mist while she leaned against the wall and the doctor stood opposite to her talking. It was only perhaps about a minute after all, but she saw waving round her, passing before her eyes, one scene melting into another, or rather all visible at once, innumerable episodes--the whole course of the three months past which had contained so much. She came out of this strange whirl very miserable but very quiet. “I think it is chiefly my fault,” she said, faltering, interrupting the doctor who was talking, always talking; “but how could I know, for nobody told me? Doctor, tell me what to do now? You said we should--pull her through.” She gave him a faint, eager, conciliatory smile, appealing to him to do it. Of course he could do it! “Tell me--tell me only what to do.” He patted her kindly upon the shoulder. “That is right,” he said. “Now you understand me, and I know I can trust you. There is not much to do. Only to be quiet and steady--no crying or agitation. Moulsey knows everything. But you must be ready and steady, my dear. Sit by her and look happy and keep up her courage--that’s the chief thing. If she gives in it is all over. She must not see that you are frightened or miserable. Come, it’s a great thing to do for a little girl that has never known any trouble. But you are of a good sort, and you must rise to it for your mother’s sake.” Look happy! That was all she had to do. “Can’t I help Moulsey,” she asked. “I could fetch her what she wants. I could--go errands for her. Oh, doctor, something a little easier,” cried Bee, clasping her hands, “just at first!” “All that’s arranged,” he said, hastily, “Come, we must go back to our patient. She will be wondering what I am talking to you about. She will perhaps take fright. No, nothing easier, my poor child--if you can do that you may help me a great deal; if you can’t, go to bed, my dear, that will be best.” She gave him a look of great scorn, and moved towards her mother’s room, leading the way.