for the sprays of ferns and foliage, which are
even more prized than flowers themselves by the unhappy dwellers in
cities, then returned to the house to find a box and pack it for the
post. The terrace was empty, but Mrs Wolff was sitting knitting just
inside the drawing-room window.

"Your uncle is better," she announced, as Mollie approached. "He has
had a quiet sleep since breakfast, and James thinks he will be able to
sit up for an hour or two to-morrow. I haven't seen anything of Ruth or
Mr Melland. Mr Druce came back from the stables to say that he was
not going to ride to-day, but take a long walk, and he would be sure to
be home in time for lunch. He is always so kind and considerate!"

The poor little woman looked wan and dispirited, and Mollie reflected
with a pang of remorse that she herself had shown little consideration
for her feelings. Even a nonentity, it appeared, could feel dull when
left by herself in a big, empty house, and also could appreciate a
little act of thoughtfulness. Victor disappeared so regularly for the
morning hours, that it seemed strange that he should have especially
explained his intentions this morning of all others; but perhaps he had
done so, just because to-day was distinguished by a special load of
anxiety which he was anxious not to increase. Mrs Wolff lived in a
constant state of fidget, and even so little a thing as the uncertainty
whether the household would assemble punctually to partake of the
luncheon which she had ordered, might easily add to her distress.

"He is awfully considerate at times; much more than the rest of us,"
Mollie admitted to herself. "He never forgets the least little thing
that Uncle Bernard says or does, or likes or dislikes, while I--silly,
blundering thing!--always try to help him out of his chair at the wrong
side, or stumble over his sticks."

She stood looking down at Mrs Wolff with a new impulse of sympathy.
Hitherto, they had seemed divided by an impassable gulf, but this
morning the girl's usual radiant sense of well-being had died away, and
left a little rankling ache in its place. "Uncle Bernard's illness, and
this new bother at home," was Mollie's explanation even to her own
heart, but the result thereof was to fill her with pity for the life of
a woman whom nobody loved, and who was homeless in a land of homes.

She sat down beside Mrs Wolff, determined to make the hour before
luncheon pass more cheerfully than its predece