“Don’t say no, Miss Breen,” pleaded the gay voice.

The answer seemed to come of itself.  “Oh, thank you, yes, I should like to go.”

“Good!” he exclaimed, and the word which riveted her consent made her recoil.

“But not this morning.  Some other day.  I—­I—­I want to think about Mrs. Maynard.  I—­ought n’t to leave her.  Excuse me this morning, Mr. Libby.”

“Why, of course,” he tried to say with unaltered gayety, but a note of disappointment made itself felt.  “Do you think she’s going to be worse?”

“No, I don’t think she is.  But—­” She paused, and waited a space before she continued.  “I ’m afraid I can’t be of use to her any longer.  She has lost confidence in me—­It’s important she should trust her physician.”  Libby blushed, as he always did when required to recognize Grace in her professional quality.  “It’s more a matter of nerves than anything else, and if she does n’t believe in me I can’t do her any good.”

“Yes, I can understand that,” said the young man, with gentle sympathy; and she felt, somehow, that he delicately refrained from any leading or prompting comment.

“She has been urging me to have a consultation with some doctor about her case, and I—­it would be ridiculous!”

“Then I would n’t do it!” said Mr. Libby.  “You know a great deal better what she wants than she does.  You had better make her, do what you say.”

“I didn’t mean to burden you with my affairs,” said Grace, “but I wished to explain her motive in speaking to you as she did.”  After she had said this, it seemed to her rather weak, and she could not think of anything else that would strengthen it.  The young man might think that she had asked advice of him.  She began to resent his telling her to make Mrs. Maynard do what she said.  She was about to add something to snub him, when she recollected that it was her own wilfulness which had precipitated the present situation, and she humbled herself.

“She will probably change her mind,” said Libby.  “She would if you could let her carry her point,” he added, with a light esteem for Mrs. Maynard which set him wrong again in Grace’s eyes:  he had no business to speak so to her.

“Very likely,” she said, in stiff withdrawal from all terms of confidence concerning Mrs. Maynard.  She did not add anything more, and she meant that the young fellow should perceive that his, audience was at an end.  He did not apparently resent it, but she fancied him hurt in his acquiescence.

She went back to her patient, whom she found languid and disposed to sleep after the recent excitement, and she left her again, taking little Bella with her.  Mrs. Maynard slept long, but woke none the better for her nap.  Towards evening she grew feverish, and her fever mounted as the night fell.  She was restless and wakeful, and between her dreamy dozes she was incessant in her hints for a consultation to Grace, who passed the night in her room, and watched