accepted the curtsey before stretching out a
hand, guaranteed Olympian, to the plains below. "My dear Mrs. Thrale,"
said she, choking back excitement to chat-point, "I really am more
grateful to you than I can say for taking charge of this dear old lady.
I was quite at my wits' end what to do with her. You see, I had to go up
to London, because of my cousin's illness--Sister Nora, you know--and it
was in the middle of the night, and I was afraid the dear old soul
would be uncomfortable at the Towers." She made some pretence of languid
indifference to conventional precisions, and of complete superiority to
scruples about confessing an error, by adding:--"Most likely I was
wrong. One is, usually. But it never seems to matter.... Let's see--what
was I saying? Oh--how very kind it was of you to solve the difficulty
for me.... Well--to help me out of the scrape!" For Mrs. Thrale had
looked the doubt in her mind--_could_ Gurth the Swineherd "solve a
difficulty" for Coeur de Lion? She could only do Anglo-Saxon things,
legitimately. The point was, however, covered by Gwen's amendment.

Mrs. Thrale had begun a smile of approbation at the phrase "dear old
lady," and had felt bound to suspend it for Sister Nora's illness. That
was a parenthesis, soon disposed of. The revival of the smile was easy,
on the words "dear old soul." She was that, there was no doubt of it,
said Mrs. Thrale, adding:--"'Tis for me to be grateful to your ladyship
for allowing me the charge of her. I hope your ladyship may not be
thinking of taking her away, just yet-a-while?"

"I think not, just at present.... We shall be able to talk of that....
Tell me--how has she been? Because of your letter."

"There now!--when I got your ladyship's note last night I felt a'most
ashamed of writing that I had been uneasy or alarmed." Gwen saw that her
yesterday's attempt at premonition had missed fire, and Mrs. Thrale
added:--"Because--_not a word!_"

"How do you mean? I don't quite understand."

"She's never said a word since. Not that sort of word! She's just never
spoke of the mill, nor Muggeridge, nor my grandfather. And I have said
nothing to her, by reason of Dr. Nash's advice. 'Never you talk to a
mental patient about their delusions!'--that's what Dr. Nash says. So I
never said one word."

Gwen felt sorry she had not made her note of alarm more definite. For
the absolute faith of the speaker in her own belief and Dr. Nash's
professional infallibility, tha