ss degree what is
called the artistic temperament."

Locking away the miniature again, Lady Wychcote permitted herself a
_sourire fin_. "It would not have annoyed you had you been _my_
daughter," was what she said.

It was useless to bicker with her. Sophy merely changed the subject by
giving her an account of Cecil's indignation over Bellamy's lack of
directness with him. Lady Wychcote, who could be reasonable enough when
she wished, agreed to speak with Bellamy herself on the subject.

* * * * *

The next day, by the first morning train, Anne Harding arrived at
Dynehurst. She was a small, slight but wiry woman of about thirty-five,
and her curly black hair was still short, having been cropped some
months previous during an attack of typhoid. This short, curling hair
and a smile of singular ingenuousness, gave her an almost childlike air
at times. Sophy, as she took in the nurse's appearance, wondered where
in that small body lurked the courage and determination necessary for
such a profession. She wondered how Nurse Harding would strike Cecil.
Would he take one of his rough-and-ready fancies to her, or detest her
from the first. She talked plainly and quietly to her. When she had
finished, she said:

"How do you think it will be best for you to meet Mr. Chesney, Nurse?
Shall I tell him that you are here first? Shall I go in with you?"

Anne Harding consulted the little watch in its leather bracelet on her
thin, sinewy dark wrist. She had black eyes full of fire and subdued
laughter. Sophy realised suddenly that she looked something like the
pictures of Hall Caine as a young man--and incidentally that she also
resembled a very alert, large-eyed insect of some sort. This made her
smile. Anne Harding, catching the glimmer of this smile as she looked up
from her watch, thought:

"What a perfectly lovely woman! Of course a woman like this had to go
and marry a morphinomaniac."

Then she asked practically, before herself answering Sophy's question:

"How does Mr. Chesney take his nourishment? Every two hours?"

"Oh, no," said Sophy, astonished. "He has meals when we do--all except
breakfast. Why? Should he eat every two hours?"

"It depends, of course, on the doctor's orders," said Anne cautiously.
"But has he an appetite? The drug kills the appetite as a rule."

"Well--I don't think he does eat much."

"You see," explained the nurse, "I was thinking that I might take his
tray