ed, and she
fastened her small, bead-like eyes on the tablecloth as if she saw a
minute strange insect creeping through the web of it. But Constantia's
long, pale face lengthened and set, and she gazed away--away--far
over the desert, to where that line of camels unwound like a thread of
wool...

"When I was with Lady Tukes," said Nurse Andrews, "she had such a dainty
little contrayvance for the buttah. It was a silvah Cupid balanced on
the--on the bordah of a glass dish, holding a tayny fork. And when you
wanted some buttah you simply pressed his foot and he bent down and
speared you a piece. It was quite a gayme."

Josephine could hardly bear that. But "I think those things are very
extravagant" was all she said.

"But whey?" asked Nurse Andrews, beaming through her eyeglasses. "No
one, surely, would take more buttah than one wanted--would one?"

"Ring, Con," cried Josephine. She couldn't trust herself to reply.

And proud young Kate, the enchanted princess, came in to see what the
old tabbies wanted now. She snatched away their plates of mock something
or other and slapped down a white, terrified blancmange.

"Jam, please, Kate," said Josephine kindly.

Kate knelt and burst open the sideboard, lifted the lid of the jam-pot,
saw it was empty, put it on the table, and stalked off.

"I'm afraid," said Nurse Andrews a moment later, "there isn't any."

"Oh, what a bother!" said Josephine. She bit her lip. "What had we
better do?"

Constantia looked dubious. "We can't disturb Kate again," she said
softly.

Nurse Andrews waited, smiling at them both. Her eyes wandered, spying at
everything behind her eyeglasses. Constantia in despair went back to her
camels. Josephine frowned heavily--concentrated. If it hadn't been
for this idiotic woman she and Con would, of course, have eaten their
blancmange without. Suddenly the idea came.

"I know," she said. "Marmalade. There's some marmalade in the sideboard.
Get it, Con."

"I hope," laughed Nurse Andrews--and her laugh was like a spoon tinkling
against a medicine-glass--"I hope it's not very bittah marmalayde."

Chapter 3.III.

But, after all, it was not long now, and then she'd be gone for good.
And there was no getting over the fact that she had been very kind
to father. She had nursed him day and night at the end. Indeed, both
Constantia and Josephine felt privately she had rather overdone the not
leaving him at the very last. For when they had gone in to sa