in the government of England.

The room allotted to Jean was a visitor's room--a large, old-fashioned
sitting-room, with a bed in one corner screened off; a room the long,
leaded windows of which afforded beautiful views across the extensive,
well-wooded park to the blue sea beyond. It was a place with a quiet,
old-world atmosphere--a room that had never been changed for a century
past. The old chintzes were of the days of our grandmothers, while the
Chippendale chairs and tables would have fetched hundreds of pounds if
put up at Christie's.

The elderly housekeeper, in her black silk cap, did all she could to
make her comfortable, and treated her with the greatest consideration
and respect--more so, perhaps, than she did Sister Gertrude, who, of
course, wore the habit of the Order, while Jean still wore her French
nurse's uniform.

Old Jenner, on the other hand, looked upon "them dressed-up Sisters o'
Mercy," as he termed them in the servants' hall, as interlopers, and was
often sarcastic at their expense. As an old servant of the family, he
felt jealous that they should wait upon his master while his presence
was not permitted in the sick-room.

All his life he had been used to wait upon "his young lordship," and he
was annoyed that he was not allowed to do so at that critical hour.

As soon as the injured man was sufficiently well to talk and to
recognise that he was being tended by sisters from the neighbouring
convent, he treated both with the greatest consideration. A car was
placed at their disposal every afternoon so that they might take an
airing, while the whole house was thrown open to them to wander where
they liked.

The library, however, was Jean's favourite room. It was a big, sombre,
restful place, with high windows of stained glass, a great carved
overmantel, and electric lights set in the ancient oaken ceiling. Lined
from ceiling to floor with books, and with several tables set about the
rich Turkey carpet, it was a cosy, restful place, where one could lounge
in a big arm-chair and dream.

Jean's duties in the sick-room were never irksome. The pair took it in
turns to sit with the patient every other night, and it was only then
that the hours in the green-shaded night-light seemed never ending. By
day she found Bracondale always interesting and frequently amusing.

After he had been in bed a fortnight the doctors allowed him to see
visitors, and several distinguished men called and were admit