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.

When at home Sophy would sit with her relative in her darkened room,
which always seemed to hold a peculiar and distinctive atmosphere,
resembling that of a chemist's shop. She brought her all the news that
she thought would interest or amuse her, read the letters from home,
tempted her to drive out, and read her new novels; but in these