his mind to stay until he can see me again, and realise that I am
still in the flesh, so he will have the pleasure of seeing me in my new
chair. I must send him an invitation to join me on my first expedition.
He really deserves some reward for his devotion."

I had a vision of them as they would look. Vere stretched at full
length, flat on her back, on that horrid-looking chair, and Mr
Carstairs towering above her, with his face a-quiver with grief and
pity, as I had seen it several times during the last week. If it had
been me, I should have hated appearing before a lover in such a guise,
and I am only an ordinary-looking girl, whereas Vere is a beauty, and
has been accustomed to think of her own appearance before anything in
the world. I could not understand her.

"I like Jim Carstairs," I said sturdily. "I hope some day I may have
someone to care for me as he does for you, Vere. It must be a lovely
feeling. He has been in such distress about you, and on that night--
that awful night--I shall never forget his face--"

"Ah, you have an inconvenient memory, Babs! It was always your failing.
For my part I mean to forget all about it as soon as possible. You
were very good and brave, by the way, and, I am afraid, hurt your foot
in trying to save me. I would rather not return to the subject, so I
will just thank you once and for all, and express my gratitude. You
practically saved my life. Think of it! If it had not been for you I
should not have had a chance of lying here now, or riding about in my
fine new chair!"

"Vere, _don't_! don't sneer!" I cried hotly, for the mask had slipped
for a moment, and I had caught a glimpse of the bitter rebellion hidden
beneath the smile. "It is awful for you--we are all wretched about it;
but there is hope still, and the doctor says you will get better if only
you will give yourself a chance. Why do you pretend? why smile and make
fun when all the time--oh, I know it, I know it quite well--your heart
is breaking!"

Her lip trembled. I thought she was going to break down, but in a
moment she was composed again, saying in the same light, jeering tones--

"Would you prefer me to weep and wail? You have known me all your life;
can you imagine me--Vere Sackville--lying about with red eyes and a
swollen face, posing as an object of pity? Can you imagine me allowing
myself to be pitied?"

"Not pitied, perhaps--no one likes that; but if people love you, and
sympathi