One by one Gila had pulled the things out of the box, rattling on about them as if she were selling corn-cure.  She was a trifle excited, to be sure, now that she was fairly launched on her philanthropic expedition; also the fact that the two women in the room were absolutely silent and gave no hint of how they were going to take this tide of insults was somewhat disconcerting.  However, Gila was not easily disconcerted.  She was very angry, and her anger had been growing in force all night.  The greatest insult that man could offer her had been heaped upon her by Courtland, and there was no punishment too great to be meted out to the unfortunate innocent who had been the occasion of it.  Gila did not care what she said, and she had no fear of any consequences whatever.  There had not, so far to her knowledge, lived the man who could not be called back and humbled to her purpose after she had punished him sufficiently for any offense he might knowingly or unknowingly have committed.  That she really had begun to admire Courtland, and to desire him in some degree for her own, only added fuel to her fire.  This girl whom he had dared to pity should be burned and tortured; she should be insulted and extinguished utterly, so that she would never dare to lift her head again within recognizable distance of Paul Courtland, or she would know the reason why.  Paul Courtland was hers—­if she chose to have him; let no other girl dare to look at him!

The nurse stood, starched and stern, with growing indignation at the audacity of the stranger.  Only the petrification of absolute astonishment, and wonder as to what would happen next, took her off her guard for the moment and prevented her from ousting the young lady from the premises instantly.  There was also the magic name of the handsome young gentleman that had been used as password, and the very slight possibility that this might be some rich relative of the lovely young patient that she would not like to have put out.  The nurse looked from Bonnie to the visitor in growing wrath and perplexity.

Bonnie lay wide-eyed and amazed, startled bewilderment and growing dignity in her face.  Two soft, pink spots of color began to bloom out in her cheeks, and her eyes took on a twinkle of amusement.  She was watching the visitor as if she were a passing Punch-and-Judy show come in to play for a moment for her entertainment.  She lay and regarded her and her tawdry display of finery with a quiet, disinterested aloofness that was beginning to get on Gila’s nerves.

“You can have my flowers, too, if you want them,” said Gila, excitedly, seeing that her flood of insult had brought forth no answering word from either listener.  “They’re very handsome, rare ones—­orchids, you know.  Did you ever see any before?  I don’t mind leaving them with you because I have a great many flowers, and these were given me by a young man I don’t care in the least about.”

She unpinned the flowers and held them out to Bonnie, but the sick girl lay still and regarded her with that quiet, half-amused gravity and did not offer to take them.