t else could you expect from a
girl who had been asleep and wakened up feeling hungry? What on earth
was there in those commonplace words to make a grown-up woman cry like a
baby, and why need everyone in the house rush in and stare at her as if
she were a figure in a waxwork? Lord Darcy, Lady Darcy, Rosalind, the
old French maid--they were all there--and, as sure as her name was Peggy
Saville, they were all four, handkerchief in hand, mopping their eyes
like so many marionettes!

Nobody gave her the cake for which she had asked. Peggy considered it
exceedingly rude and ill-bred; but while she was thinking of it she grew
tired again, and, rolling round into a soft little bundle among the
blankets, fell afresh into sweet refreshing slumbers.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

CONVALESCENCE.

"Convalescence," remarked Peggy elegantly, a week later on,
"convalescence is a period not devoid of attraction!" She was lying on
a sofa in her bedroom at the Larches, wrapped in her white
dressing-gown, and leaning against a nest of pink silk cushions, and,
what with a table drawn up by her side laden with grapes and jelly, a
pile of Christmas numbers lying close at hand, and the presence of an
audience consisting of Rosalind, Lady Darcy, and Mrs Asplin, ready to
listen admiringly to her conversation, and to agree enthusiastically
with every word she uttered, it did indeed seem as if the position was
one which might be endured with fortitude! Many were the questions
which had been showered upon her since her return to consciousness, and
the listeners never grew tired of listening to her account of the
accident. How Rosalind had clutched too carelessly at the slender
candlestick, so that it had fallen forward, setting the gauze dress in
flames, how she herself had flown out of the room, torn down the
curtains which draped the "harem," and had flung them round the frantic,
struggling figure. With every day that passed, however, Peggy gained
more strength, and was petted to her heart's content by everyone in the
house. The old lord kissed her fondly on the cheek, and murmured, "God
reward you, my brave girl, for I never can." Lady Darcy shed tears
every morning when the burns were dressed, and said, "Oh, Peggy dear,
forgive me for being cross, and do, do be sure to use the lotion for
your arms regularly every day when you get better!" And the big doctor
chucked her under the chin, and cried--

"Well, `Fighting Saville,' and ho