tears.

Tims insisted on her rising from the chair, undressing, and getting into
bed. Then she sat by her in the half-dark, waiting for the miserable
tears to leave off.

"Don't cry, old girl, don't cry. Go to sleep and forget all about it,"
she kept repeating, almost mechanically.

At length leaning over the bed she saw that Mildred was asleep, lying
straight on her bed with her feet crossed and her hands laid on her
bosom.

CHAPTER VII

About noon on Friday Milly Flaxman awoke. She lay very quiet, sleepy and
comfortable, her eyes fixed idly on a curve in the jessamine-pattern
paper opposite her bed. The windows were wide open, the blinds down and
every now and again flapping softly, as a capricious little breeze went
by, whispering through the leafy trees outside. There seemed nothing
unusual in that; she always slept with her windows open. But as her
senses emerged from those mists which lie on the surface of the river of
sleep, she was conscious of a balmy warmth in the room, of an impression
of bright sunshine behind the dark blinds, and of noises from the
streets reaching her with a kind of sharpness associated with sunshine.
She sat up, looked at her watch, and was shocked to find how late she
had slept. She must have missed a lecture. Then the recollection of the
dinner-party at the Fletchers', the verdict of Mr. Stewart on her chance
of a First, and her own hysterical outburst returned to her,
overpowering all outward impressions. She felt calm and well now, but
unhappy and ashamed of herself. She put her feet out of bed and looked
round mechanically for her dressing-gown and slippers. Their absence was
unimportant, for no sense of chill struck through her thin night-gown
to her warm body, and going to the window, she drew up the blind.

The high June sun struck full upon her, hot and dazzling, but not so
dazzling that she could not see the row of garden trees through whose
bare branches she had yesterday descried the squalid roofs of the town.
They were spreading now in a thick screen of fresh green leaves. She
leaned out, as though further investigation might explain the
phenomenon, and saw a red standard rose in full flower under her window.
The thing was exactly like a dream, and she tried to wake up but could
not. She was panic-stricken and trembling. Had she been very, very ill?
Was it possible to be unconscious for six months? She looked at herself
in a dressing-glass near the window, whi