Whitey read aloud for an
hour, but the book had come to a dull, uneventful stage, and the
chapters dragged heavily.

Sylvia longed for tea as an oasis in this desert of a day, and
despatched nurse to bid Mary bring it up half an hour before the usual
time. And then came a charming surprise! Back came Whitey all smiles
and dimples, the tired lines wiped out of her face as by a miracle. She
stood in the doorway, looking at her patient with dancing eyes.

"I've brought you something better than tea!" she cried. "Just look
what I have brought you!" As she spoke she moved to the side, as if to
make room for another visitor, and--was it a dream, or could it really
be true?--there stood the bride of Number Three, the sweet-faced
Angelina, in her black dress, her grey eyes soft with welcome.

"Oh!" cried Sylvia shrilly. "Oh--oh!" She sat up in bed and stretched
out two thin little hands, all a-tremble with excitement. "It's _you_!
Oh, how did you come? What made you come? How did you know I wanted
you so badly?"

"I wanted you too!" said the girl quickly. She had a delightful voice;
soft, and deep, and musical in tone, and she was prettier than ever,
seen close at hand. Best of all, she was not a bit shy, but as frank
and outspoken as if they had been friends of years' standing. "Your
aunt called on me this afternoon," she went on, coming nearer the bed,
and sitting down on the chair which nurse placed for her. "She invited
me to come to see you some day, but I've a dislike to waiting, if
there's a good thing in prospect, so I asked if I might come at once,
and here I am! I'm so glad you wanted to see me. I have watched you
from my window, ever since you first sat up in your pretty red jacket."

"And you looked up and smiled at me! I have watched you too, and wanted
to know you so badly. I've been ill for months, it seems like years,
and was so surprised to see that your house was taken. You can't think
how strange it is to creep back to life, and see how everything has gone
on while you have lain still. It's conceited, of course, to expect a
revolution of nature, just because you are out of things yourself, but I
didn't seem able to help it."

"I'm like that myself!" said the pretty girl pleasantly. There was a
soft gurgle in her voice as of laughter barely repressed, and she
pronounced her i's with a faint broadening of accent, which was
altogether quaint and delightful.

Sylvia mentally repeated