;
you're only fit to be put to bed."

She spoke with mild authority, and Karen, under her hands, relapsed to
childhood.

"This all the baggage you've brought?" Mrs. Talcott inquired, finding a
nightdress in Karen's dressing-case. She expressed no surprise when
Karen said that it was all, passed the nightdress over her head and,
when she had lain down, tucked the bed-clothes round her.

"Now what you want is a hot-water bottle and some dinner. I guess you're
hungry. Did you have any lunch on the train?"

"I've had some chocolate and a bun and some milk, oh yes, I had enough,"
said Karen faintly, raising her hand to her forehead; "but I must be
hungry; for my head aches so badly. How kind you are, Mrs. Talcott."

"You lie right there and I'll bring you some dinner." Mrs. Talcott was
swiftly tidying the room.

"But what of yours, Mrs. Talcott? Isn't it your dinner-time?"

"I've had my supper. I have supper early these days."

Karen dimly reflected, when she was gone, that this was an innovation.
Whoever Madame von Marwitz's guests, Mrs. Talcott had, until now, always
made an _acte de presence_ at every meal. She was tired and not feeling
well enough after her illness, she thought.

Mrs. Talcott soon returned with a tray on which were set out hot
_consommee_ and chicken and salad, a peach beside them. Hot-house fruit
was never wanting when Madame von Marwitz was at Les Solitudes.

"Lie back. I'll feed it to you," said Mrs. Talcott. "It's good and
strong. You know Adolphe can make as good a _consommee_ as anybody, if
he's a mind to."

"Is Adolphe here?" Karen asked as she swallowed the spoonfuls.

"Yes, I sent for Adolphe to Paris a week ago," said Mrs. Talcott.
"Mercedes wrote that she'd soon be coming with friends and wanted him.
He'd just taken a situation, but he dropped it. Her new motor's here,
too, down from London. The chauffeur seems a mighty nice man, a sight
nicer than Hammond." Hammond had been Madame von Marwitz's recent
coachman. Mrs. Talcott talked on mildly while she fed Karen who, in the
whirl of trivial thoughts, turning and turning like midges over a deep
pool, questioned herself, with a vague wonder that she was too tired to
follow: "Did Tante say anything to me about coming to Cornwall?"

Mrs. Talcott, meanwhile, as Madame von Marwitz had prophesied, asked no
questions.

"Now you have a good long sleep," she said, when she rose to go. "That's
what you need."

She needed it very much. T