her at unusual times, and looked at her with an
air of pity that the girl found almost intolerable. After three or four
days of it, she broke through her usual rule of reserve, and asked
Flossy what the General meant.

"You had better ask him," said Mrs. Vane, arching her delicate brows.

"I have asked him, and he will not tell me."

"I suppose it is simply that Hubert is ill. He thinks probably that you
are distracted by anxiety about him."

Enid colored guiltily.

"But we have good accounts of him," she said, as if explaining away her
own apparent indifference; "he is going on as well as we can expect. And
I suppose you would be with him if he were dangerously ill?"

"I am not sure of that," said Flossy rather drily; but she would say no
more.

It was after breakfast one morning that Enid insisted upon being
satisfied. She and the General had, as usual, breakfasted together, and
a letter had just been received from the Doctor in attendance on Hubert,
over which the General coughed, fidgeted, sighed, and was evidently so
much disturbed that Enid's attention was roused to the uttermost. For
the earlier part of the meal she had been sitting with her hands clasped
before her, not attempting to touch the food upon her plate. She had no
appetite; she had passed a bad night, and was little inclined to talk.
But the General's movements and gestures excited her curiosity.

"Have you had bad news, uncle Richard?"

"No, no, my dear! He's going on very well--very well indeed."

"You mean Hubert?"

"Yes--yes, of course! Whom else should I mean? You needn't be alarmed
about him at all; he'll soon be about again."

There was a tone of mingled vexation and perplexity in the General's
voice.

"Is he conscious now?" Enid asked eagerly.

"Well, no--not exactly--light-headed a little, I suppose. At least----"

"Who has written, uncle Richard? Can I see the letter?"

"No, no, no! Not for you to read, my dear! It's from the doctor--nothing
much--nothing for you to see."

Enid was silent for a few minutes; then she spoke with sudden
determination.

"Uncle Richard, you are treating me like a child! There is something
that you are hiding from me which I ought to know--I am sure of it! Will
you not tell me what it is?"

"You are quite mistaken, my dear! There is nothing to tell--nothing,
that is, in the least particular--nothing that you need trouble about at
all."

"There is something! Oh, uncle Richard"--and she ros