nt from the pain in her wrists.
There was nothing to be done. She had had the doctor, and no article of
the prescribed treatment had been neglected. With unaccustomed aid from
Hilda she had accomplished the business of undressing and getting into
bed, and now she sat up in bed, supported by her own pillows and one
from Hilda's bed, and nursed her wrists, while Hilda poured drops of a
narcotic for her into a glass of water. Apart from the serious local
symptoms, her health was fairly good. She could eat, she could talk, she
could walk, and her brain was clear. Hilda held the glass for her to
drink, for it was prudent to keep her hands as much as possible in
repose.

"There!" said Hilda, as if to a young child who had been querulous. "I'm
sure you'll sleep now!"

"I don't think I shall," the sufferer whined.

"Oh yes, you will!" Hilda insisted firmly, although she was by no means
sure. "Let me take this extra pillow away, and then you can lie down
properly." She was thinking reproachfully: "What a pity it is for all of
us that the poor thing can't bear her pain with a little less fuss!" It
was not Sarah alone who was embittered and fatigued by Sarah's pain.

"Where's George?" asked the invalid, when she was laid down.

"In the parlour. Why?"

"Oh, nothing!"

"By the way," said Hilda, seized by a sudden impulse, which had its
origin in Sarah's tone at once martyrized and accusing,--"by the way,
who _is_ it that's been talking scandal about me and George?"

"Scandal?" Sarah Gailey seemed weakly to protest against the word.

"Because, if you want to know," Hilda continued, "we're engaged to be
married!" She reflected, contrite: "This won't help her to sleep!" And
then added, in a new, endearing accent, awaiting an outburst of some
kind from Sarah: "Of course it's a secret, dear. I'm telling no one but
you."

After a moment's silence, Sarah remarked casually, with shut eyes:
"It'll be much the best not to tell anyone. And the shorter the
engagement the better! Don't let anybody in the house know till you're
married." She sighed, put her cheek into the pillow, and moved her bound
wrists for a few seconds, restlessly. "If you turn the gas down," she
finished very wearily, "I dare say I may get off. If only they'd stop
that piano upstairs!"

She had displayed no surprise at the tremendous event, no sentimental
interest in it. The fact was that Sarah Gailey's wrists were infinitely
more interesting to her than any c