ll more distressed when her father once rose from his
place to give her some wine.

'Why do you do that?' she asked, with a touch of impatience. 'It is not
for you to wait on me, father. Michael would have filled my glass quite
easily.'

'You are paying me a very bad compliment, Audrey,' returned Dr. Ross
with a smile. 'You are telling me that I am too much of an old fogey to
wait on ladies. Mike is the younger man, of course, and if you should
prefer that he should help you to madeira----'

'No, father, it is not that; but it is for me to wait on you. You must
never, never do that for me again.'

And somehow Dr. Ross seemed to have no answer ready as he went back to
his chair.

But when she was alone with her mother she spoke still more plainly.
Mrs. Ross had persuaded her to take the corner of the couch; but as she
stood by her manipulating the cushions and adjusting them more
comfortably, Audrey turned round quickly and took hold of her hands.

'Mother, do please sit down. I think you have all entered into a
conspiracy to-night to kill me with kindness.'

'We are so sorry for you, darling.'

'Perhaps I am sorry for myself; but is that any reason why I should be
treated as though I had lost the use of my limbs? I want you to behave
to me as usual; it will be far better for me and you too. Why did not
father and Michael talk politics, instead of making little
cut-and-dried speeches that seemed to fit into nothing?'

'I daresay they found it very difficult to talk at all under the
circumstances.'

'That sounds as though I had better have remained upstairs, as Michael
suggested; indeed, I must do so if you will persist in regarding me as
the skeleton at the feast.'

'My darling child, how you talk! Surely you will allow your parents to
share your sorrow?'

'No, mother; that is just what I cannot allow; no one shall be burdened
with my troubles. Listen to me, mother dear: I think people make a great
mistake about this; they mean to be kind, but it is not true kindness;
they are ready to give everything--sympathy, watchfulness,
attention--but they withhold the greatest gift of all, the freedom, the
solitude, for which the sufferer craves.'

'Do you mean that we are to leave you alone, Audrey? Oh, my dear, this
is a hard saying for a mother to hear!'

'But it is not too hard for my mother,' returned Audrey caressingly.
'Yes, I would have you leave me alone until I recover myself. I would be
treated as you