air, that this--decoratively speaking--most perilous of colours
became innocuous, in a way studious, in keeping with a large
writing-table occupying the centre of the picture, laden with manuscripts
and with books. The wooden outside shutters of two of the three windows
were closed, which enhanced the prevailing coolness and studiousness of
effect. Red cushions, also agreeably faded, upon the window-seats, alone
echoed, in some degree, the hot radiance obtaining out of doors--these,
and a red enamelled vase holding sprays of yellow and orange-copper
roses, placed upon a smaller table before which Damaris sat, her back
towards the invader.

At the sound of the latter's voice, the girl started, raised her head
and, in the act of looking round, swept together some scattered sheets of
note-paper and shut her blotting-book.

"Henrietta!" she cried, and thereupon sprang up; the lady, meanwhile,
advancing towards her with outstretched arms, which enclosed her in a
fragrant embrace.

"Yes--nothing less than Henrietta"--imprinting light kisses on either
cheek. "But I see you are busy writing letters, dearest child. I am in
the way--I interrupt you?"

And, as Damaris hastily denied that such was the case:

"Ah! but I do," she repeated. "I have no right to dart in on you thus _a
l'improviste_. It is hardly treating such an impressive young
person--absolutely I believe you have grown since I saw you last!--yes,
you are taller, darling child--handsomer than ever, and a tiny bit
alarming too--what have you been doing with, or to, or by
yourself?--Treating her--the impressive young person, I mean--with proper
respect. But it was such a chance. I learnt that you were alone"--A fib,
alas! on Henrietta's part.--"And I couldn't resist coming. I so longed to
have you, like this, all to myself. What an eternity since we met!--For
me a wearing, ageing eternity. The duties of a sick-room are so horribly
anxious, yet so deadening in their repetition of ignoble details. I could
not go through with them, honestly I could not--though I realize it is a
damning admission for a woman to make--if it wasn't that I am rather
absurdly attached to what good Dr. Stewart-Walker persists in calling
'our patient.' Is not that enough in itself?--To fall from all normal
titles and dignities and become merely a patient? No, joking apart, only
affection makes nursing in any degree endurable to me. Without its saving
grace the whole business would be too unp