jealous again it will be just the other way, for fear you
will care for her and not at all for me."

"I do believe you are making me a declaration of attachment!" cried
Clover, amazed beyond expression at this outburst, but inexpressibly
pleased. The stiff, reserved Imogen seemed transformed. Her face glowed
with emotion, her words came in a torrent. She was altogether different
from her usual self.

"Attachment! If I were not attached to you I should be the most
ungrateful wretch going. Here you have stayed away from home all these
weeks, and worked like a servant making me all those lovely
lemon-squashes and things, and letting your own affairs go to wrack and
ruin, and you never seemed to remember that you _had_ any affairs, or
that there was such a thing as getting tired,--never seemed to remember
anything except to take care of me. You are an angel--there is nobody
like you. I don't believe any one else in the world would have done what
you did for a stranger who had no claim upon you."

"That is absurd," said Clover, frightened at the probable effect of all
this excitement on her patient, and trying to treat the matter lightly.
"You exaggerate things dreadfully. We all have a claim on each other,
especially here in the Valley where there are so few of us. If I had
been ill you would have turned to and helped to nurse me as I did you, I
am sure."

"I shouldn't have known how."

"You would have learned how just as I did. Emergencies are wonderful
teachers. Now, dear Imogen, you _must_ get to bed. If you excite
yourself like this you will have a bad night and be put back."

"Oh, I'll sleep. I promise you that I will sleep if only you will let me
say just one more thing. I won't go on any more about the things you
have done, though it's all true,--and I don't exaggerate in the least,
for all that you say I do; but never mind that, only please tell me that
you forgive me. I can't rest till you say that."

"For what,--for not liking me at first; for being jealous of Isabel?
Both were natural enough, I think. Isabel was your dearest friend; and I
was a new-comer, an interloper. I never meant to come between you, I am
sure; but I daresay that I seemed to do so, and I can understand it all
easily. There is no question of forgiving between us, dear, only of
forgetting. We are friends now, and we will both love Isabel; and I will
love you if you will let me, and you shall love me."

"How good you are!" exclaimed Im