good fellow could not tear himself away from the neighbourhood until the
doctor had come to some more definite conclusion about Vere.

A specialist had been down from town, and he pronounced the spine
injured by the fall, but hoped that, with complete rest, recovery was
possible in the future. How long would she have to rest? It was
impossible to say. If he said a year, it would probably be exciting
false hopes; it might be two years, or even three. And at the end of
that time, even of the longest time, was there any certainty? It was
impossible to be certain in such cases, but the probabilities made for
improvement. Miss Sackville had youth on her side, and a good
constitution. It was a mistake to look on the dark side. "Hope, my
dear sir, hope is a more powerful medicine than people realise! Fifty
guineas, please--thank you! Train leaves at two o'clock, I think you
said?"

I was thankful I had not to tell Vere the verdict. Father broke it to
her, and said she "took it calmly," but he looked miserable, and every
time he went to see her he looked still more wretched and _baffled_.
There is no other word to express it. He seems impatient for me to see
her, and when at last I could hobble to the door of her room, went with
me and whispered urgently, "Try what you can make of her! Don't avoid
the subject. It is better sometimes to speak out," and I went in,
feeling almost as anxious as he was himself.

Vere was lying in bed, with her hair twisted loosely on the top of her
head, and wearing one of her pretty blue jackets, all ribbons and
frilly-willies. In a way she looked just the same; in a way so
different that I might never have seen her before. The features were
the same, but the expression was new; it was not that she looked
troubled, or miserable, or cross, or anything like that; you could not
tell what she felt; it was just as if a mask covered everything that you
wanted to see, and left only the mere bare outline.

She spoke first.

"Well, Una! So your foot is better, and you can get about? I was so
sorry to hear it was bad. I suppose you are not able to get out yet?"

"Oh, no! This is my longest walk. I am afraid of attempting the
stairs. The Greaves are very kind. I believe they like having us
here."

"Having you, you mean. I am sure you must make a delightful break in
the monotony. As for me,"--she thrust out her hands with an expressive
little grimace--"I have been rather a nui