ut does she--does she--is she--can she walk about her own room?"
stammered the Baron.

"A little," said Mrs. Willoughby. "Oh, I hope in a few weeks she may
be able to come down. But the very _greatest_ care and quiet are
needed, for she is in such a _very_ delicate state that we watch her
night and day."

"A few weeks!" echoed the Baron, in dismay. "Watch her night and day!"

"Oh, you know, it is the only chance for her recovery. She is _so_
delicate."

The Baron looked at Mrs. Willoughby with a pale face, upon which there
was real suffering and real misery.

"Can't I do something?" he gasped. "Won't you take a message to her?
It ought to do her good. Perhaps she thinks I'm neglecting her.
Perhaps she thinks I ain't here enough. Tell her I'm ready to give up
my office, and even my title of nobility, and come and live here, if
it'll be any comfort to her."

"Oh, really, Sir, you _quite_ mistake her," said Mrs. Willoughby. "It
has no reference to you whatever. It's a nervous affection,
accompanied with general debility and neuralgia."

"Oh no, you don't know her," said the Baron, incredulously. "I _know_
her. I know what it is. But she walks, don't she?"

"Yes, a little--just across the room; still, even that is too much.
She is _very, very_ weak, and must be _quite_ kept free from
excitement. Even the excitement of your visits is bad for her. Her
pulse is--is--always--accelerated--and--she--I--Oh, dear me!"

While Mrs. Willoughby had been making up this last sentence she was
startled by a rustling on the stairs. It was the rustle of a female's
dress. An awful thought occurred to her, which distracted her, and
confused her in the middle of her sentence, and made her scarce able
to articulate her words. And as she spoke them the rustle drew nearer,
and she heard the sound of feet descending the stairs, until at last
the footsteps approached the door, and Mrs. Willoughby, to her utter
horror, saw Minnie herself.

Now as to the Baron, in the course of his animated conversation with
Mrs. Willoughby, and in his excited entreaties to her to carry a
message up to the invalid, he had turned round with his back to the
door. It was about the time that Lady Dalrymple had begun to beat a
retreat. As she advanced the Baron saw her, and, with his usual
politeness, moved ever so far to one side, bowing low as he did so.
Lady Dalrymple passed, the Baron raised himself, and as Mrs.
Willoughby was yet speaking, and had just re