Then the girl gave in. She sat down on a chair by the dressing-table and rested her forehead on her hand, laughing faintly, as if in protest against her own subjugation. “Then I shall have to submit,” she said. “The fact is, I sometimes fancy I do feel weaker than I ought to. It is n't like me to be weak. I was always so strong, you know,--stronger than all the rest of you, I thought. Miss MacDowlas says I do not look well. I suppose,” with a half-sigh, “that every one will see it soon. Aimée,” hesitating, “don't tell them at home.” Aimée slipped an arm around her, and drew her head--dressed in all the old elaborateness of pretty coils and braids--upon her own shoulder. “Darling,” she whispered, trying to restrain her tears, “I must tell them at home, because I must take you home to be nursed.” “No, no!” said Dolly, starting, “that would never do. It would never do even to think of it. I am not so ill as that,--not ill enough to be nursed. Besides,” her voice sinking all at once, “I could n't go home, Aimée,--I could not bear to go home now. That is why I have stayed away so long. I believe it would _kill_ me!” It was impossible for Aimée to hear this and be silent longer. She had, indeed, only been waiting for some reference to the past. “I knew it was that,” she cried. “I knew it the moment Mr. Gowan told me. And I have feared it from the first. Nothing but that could have broken you down like this. Dolly, if Grif could see you now, he would give his heart's blood to undo what he has done.” The pale little hands lying upon the black dress began to tremble in a strange, piteous weakness. “One cannot forget so much in so short a time,” Dolly pleaded. “And it is so much,--more than even you think. One cannot forget seven years in three months,--give me seven months, Aimée. I shall be better in time, when I have forgotten.” Forgotten! Even those far duller of perception than Aimée could have seen that she would not soon forget. She had not begun in the right way to forget. The pain which had made the pretty figure and the soft, round face look faintly worn, was sharper to-day than it had been even three months before, and it was gaining in sharpness every day, nay, every hour. “The days are so long,” she said, plaiting the silk of her dress on-the restless hands. “We are so quiet, except when we have visitors, and somehow visitors begin to tire me. I scarcely ever knew what it was to be tired before. I don't care even to scatter the Philistines now,” trying to smile. “I am not even roused by the prospect of meeting Lady Augusta tonight. I forgot to tell you she was coming, did n't I? How she would triumph if she knew how I have fallen and--and how miserable I am! She used to say I had not a thought above the cut of my dresses. She never knew about--_him_, poor fellow!” It was curious to see how she still clung to that tender old pitying way of speaking of Grif. Aimee began to cry over her again.