“I won’t believe you.  You’re coarse and you’re cruel.”

Tears flashed into Miss Livingstone’s eyes with this.  Hilda, still regarding the ceiling, was aware of them, and turned an impatient shoulder while they should be brushed undetected away.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she said.  “I forgot.  You are usually so intelligent, one can be coarse and cruel with comfort, talking to you.  Go into the bath-room and get my salts—­they’re on the washhand-stand—­will you?  I’m quite faint with all I’m about to undergo.”

Laura Filbert came in as Alicia emerged with the salts.  Ignoring the third person with the bottle, she went directly to the bedside and laid her hand on Hilda’s head.

“Oh, Miss Howe, I am so sorry you are sick—­so sorry,” she said.  It was a cooing of professional concern, true to an ideal, to a necessity.

“I am not very bad,” Hilda improvised.  “Hardly more than a headache.”

“She makes light of everything,” Miss Filbert said, smiling toward Alicia, who stood silent, the prey of her impression.  Discovering the blue salts bottle, Laura walked over to her and took it from her hands.

“And what,” said the barefooted Salvation Army girl, “might your name be?”

There was an infinite calm interest in it—­it was like a conventionality of the other world, and before its assurance Alicia stood helpless.

“Her name is Livingstone,” called Hilda from the bed, “and she is as good as she is beautiful.  You needn’t be troubled about her soul—­she takes Communion every Sunday morning at the Cathedral.”

“Hallelujah!” said Captain Filbert, in a tone of dubious congratulation.

“Much better,” said Hilda, cheerfully, “to take it at the Cathedral, you know, than nowhere.”

Miss Filbert said nothing to this, but sat down upon the edge of the bed, looking serious, and stroked Hilda’s hair.

“You don’t seem to have much fever,” she said.  “There was a poor fellow in the Military Hospital this morning with a temperature of 107.  I could hardly bear to touch him.”

“What was the matter?” asked Hilda idly, occupied with hypotheses about the third person in the room.

“Oh, I don’t know exactly.  Some complication, I suppose, of the wages the body pays to sin.”

“Divinest Laura!” Hilda exclaimed, drawing her head back.  “Do take a chair.  It will be even more soothing to see you comfortable.”

Captain Filbert spoke again to Alicia, as she obeyed.  “Miss Howe is more thoughtful for others than some of our converted ones,” she said, with vast kindness.  “I have often told her so.  I have had a long day.”

“It may improve me in that character,” Hilda said, “to suggest that if you will go about such people, a little carbolic disinfectant is a good thing, or a crystal or two of permanganate of potash in your bath.  Do you use those things?”

Laura shook her head.  “Faith is better than disinfectants.  I never get any harm.  My Master protects me.”