he estate came up, dressed in
their best, and danced with the servants in the hall. Mr and Mrs
Chester, with Harold and Rhoda, honoured the assembly by joining in the
first dance, and Evie sat in her wheeled chair, looking on and trying to
keep a smiling face, the while she fought one of the mental battles
which seemed to meet her on every step of the road to recovery. She had
been so much occupied grieving over the serious financial loss which her
inability to work would involve, that she had taken little thought of
the pleasures from which she was debarred; but, after all, she was but a
girl, and a girl with a keen capacity for enjoyment, and it was a very
keen pang which went through her heart as she listened to the seductive
strains of the band, and watched the couples glide slowly by. The dark
brows twitched as if in pain, and she drew aside the folds of the pink
tea-gown to cast a longing glance at the little useless feet stretched
before her. A sudden remembrance arose of the day when Rhoda protested
in dismay at the thought of wearing the ugly regulation school shoes,
and of her own confession of love for pretty slippers, of the
satisfaction with which she had donned the same on Thursday evenings,
and danced about the hall as blithely as any one of her pupils. Those
days were over--for ever over; she would never again know the joy of any
rapid, exhilarating motion. She lifted her hand to wipe away a tear,
hoping to escape observation the while, but, to her dismay, Harold stood
by her side, and his eyes met hers with an expression of pained
understanding. Any reference to her infirmity seemed to distress him so
acutely that the first instinct was to comfort him instead of herself,
and she smiled through her tears, saying in the sweetest tones of her
always sweet voice:

"Don't, please! Don't look so sorry! It was babyish of me, but just
for one moment--I was so fond of dancing, you know, and I had never
realised before--"

"Just so. You realise fresh losses every day. I know what you must
feel. You have not been babyish at all, but most brave and heroic."

Evie sighed. "It's nice to be praised, but I feel as if I don't deserve
it. I am not in the least brave at heart... Sometimes I almost dread
getting strong, for then I shall have to face so much... I'm conceited,
too, for I hate the idea of limping, and being stiff and ungraceful. I
thought I did not care for appearance, but I did--oh, a grea