‘It was very kind of him to be so anxious,’ she answered slowly, and with manifest effort.  I thought it best to say no more just then, but to leave her to digest these few words.  That night was the best she had yet passed, and in the morning I was struck by the improvement in her appearance; she looked calmer and more cheerful.

Towards mid-day I noticed that she grew a little abstracted, and when Uncle Max’s bell rang, she looked at me, and a tinge of colour came to her face.

‘Should you not like to go down and speak to Mr. Cunliffe?’ she said timidly.  ‘I must not keep you such a prisoner, Ursula.’  But when I returned indifferently that another day would do as well, and that I had nothing special to say to him, I noticed that she looked disappointed.  As I never mentioned Miss Darrell’s name to her, I could not explain my real reason for declining to go down.  I was rather surprised when she continued in an embarrassed tone, as though speech had grown difficult to her,—­she often hesitated in this fashion when anything disturbed her,—­

’I am rather sorry that Etta always sees him alone:  one never knows what she may say to him.  I have begun to distrust her in most things.’

‘I do not think that it matters much what she says to him,’ I returned briskly; for it would never do to leave her anxious on this point.  ’You know I have provided an antidote in the shape of daily notes.’

‘Surely you do not write every day,’ taking her fan from the table with a trembling hand.  ‘What can you have to say to Mr. Cunliffe about me?’ And I could see she waited for my answer with suppressed eagerness.

‘Oh, he likes to know how you slept,’ I returned carelessly, ’and if you are quieter and more cheerful.  Uncle Max has such sympathy with people who are ill; he is very kind-hearted.’

‘Oh yes; I never knew any one more so,’ she replied gently; but I detected a yearning tone in her voice, as though she was longing for his sympathy then.  We did not say any more, but I thought she was a trifle restless that afternoon, and yet she looked happier; she spoke once or twice, as though she were tired of remaining upstairs.

’I think I am stronger.  Does Giles consider it necessary for me to stop up here?’ she asked, once.  ’If it were not for Etta I should like to be in the drawing-room.  But no, that would be an end to our peace.’  And here she looked a little excited.  ‘But if Giles would let me have a drive.’

I promised to speak to him on the subject of the drive, for I was sure that he would hail the proposition most gladly as a sign of returning health; but I told her that in my opinion it would be better for her to remain quietly in these two pleasant rooms until she was stronger and more fit to endure the little daily annoyances that are so trying to a nervous invalid.

‘When that time comes you will have to part with your nurse,’ I went on, in a joking tone.  But I was grieved to see that at the first hint of my leaving her she clung to me with the old alarm visible in her manner.