She consumed it, making the process as lingering as was consistent with the ravaging appetite which was a real torture.  When the last mouthful had vanished she set her eyes upon the clock—­the little travelling clock which was Miss Arden’s and which had ticked busily and cheerfully through all those days of illness when Anne’s eyes had never once lifted to notice the passage of time.

“I was so long about it,” said the girl gleefully, “that now it’s only two hours and forty minutes to the next refreshment station.  I expect I can keep on living till then if I use all my will power.”

“And here’s something to make you forget how long two hours and forty minutes are.”

Miss Arden went to the door and, returning, laid suddenly in Anne’s arms a great, fragrant mass of white bloom, at the smell and touch of which she gave a half-smothered cry of rapture, and buried her face in the midst of it.  “White lilacs—­oh, white lilacs!  The dears—­the loves!  Oh, where did they come from?”

“There’s a note that came with them,” admitted Miss Arden presently, when she had let the question go unanswered for some time, while Anne, seeming to forget that she had asked it, smelled and smelled of the cool white and green branches as if she could never have enough of them.  Into her eyes had leaped a strange look, as if some memory were connected with these outdoor flowers which made them different for her from the hothouse blooms, or even from the daffodils and tulips that had alternated with the roses which had come often since her convalescence began.

Anne reached up an eager hand for the note, a look of surprise on her face.  Miss Arden, looking back at her, noted how each day was helping to remove the pallor and wanness from that face.  At the moment, under the caress of the lilacs and the surprise of the impending note, it was showing once more a decided touch of its former beauty.  Also she was wearing a little invalid’s wrap of lace and pink silk, given her by Mrs. Burns, and this helped the effect.

Anne unfolded the note.  Miss Arden went away with the empty tray, and remained away some time.  Miss Arden, as has been said before, was a most remarkable nurse.

The note read thus: 

     The Next Corridor, 10:30 A.M.

     DEAR MISS LINTON: 

The time has come, it seems to me, for two patients who have nothing to do but while away the hours for a bit longer, to help each other out.  What do you say?  I suppose you don’t know that I’ve been lying flat on my back now for a fortnight, getting over a rather bad spill from my car.  I’m pretty comfortable now, thank you, so don’t waste a particle of sympathy; but the hours must certainly drag for you as they do for me, and my idea is that we ought to establish some sort of system of intercommunication.  I have an awfully obliging nurse, and a young man with a fiddle here besides, and I’d like to send you a short musicale