.. Have you gotten
that nicely off by heart now, so you won't go forgetting at the wrong
moments?"

"Why should I forget? Surely my own feelings will be my best guide?"

"Yes, 'um!" said Cornelia, demurely. She let her lids droop over her
tell-tale eyes, and stood beside the couch for a long, eloquent moment,
during which the flickering colour deepened on Elma's cheek; then turned
aside, took down a book from a shelf, and settled herself comfortably on
a wicker chair.

"I guess we understand one another, and there's no more to be said. Now
for one hour by the clock you've to shut your eyes and be quiet. Go to
sleep if you can! I'll wake you up in time for the prinking."

Elma buried her head in the cushions and shed a silent tear. Cornelia
was laughing at her, and she could not bear it. Her mind, trained to
habits of introspection, began at once to wonder if she were _really_
pretending, as the other seemed to think; if the agitation which she
felt was not so much the result of the accident, as caused by the
excitement of seeing Geoffrey Greville, and meeting his ardent glances.
The prospect of remaining in the same house and of meeting him from hour
to hour was incredible but delightful, yet Elma would give it up a
hundred times over, rather than accept hospitality under false
pretences. Was it her duty to insist upon returning home? Should she
announce that she felt so much refreshed by her rest that there was no
longer any reason why she should be treated as an invalid? The sinking
feeling of disappointment which followed this inspiration was easily
mistaken for a physical symptom. Yes. She _was_ ill! It was quite
true that she felt faint. Surreptitiously she felt her own pulse, and
was convinced that its beat had increased. She thought of the
expression of Geoffrey's eyes as he lifted her from the ground--blushed,
and felt certain that she was feverish. Yes, she would stay! It would
be foolish and ungrateful to refuse. Mother had always warned her not
to run risks where health was concerned...

A soft little sigh of contentment sounded through the room. If Elma had
been fifteen years younger this was the moment at which a warm, sticky
little thumb would have crept into her mouth, as a sign that earthly
cares were swept aside, and that she had resigned herself to slumber;
being a young woman of sweet and twenty, she snoodled her head into the
pillow, and fell fast asleep.

For over an hour