-table. She was accustomed to her
nickname by this time, and was indeed rather proud of it than otherwise.
She had been known successively as "Spirit of the Day," and "The White
Nurse," during the hours of delirium, and the abbreviation had a natural
girlish ring about it, which was a herald of returning health.

"There, look at yourself, Miss Conceit!" she cried laughingly, and
Sylvia held the glass erect in both hands and stared curiously at her
own reflection. She saw a thin, clear-cut little face, with arched
eyebrows, large brown eyes, an aquiline nose, and full, pouting lips.
The cheeks showed delicate hollows beneath the cheek bones, and the eyes
looked tired and heavy, otherwise there was no startling change to
record.

"I don't look as much older as I expected, but I've got a different
expression, Whitey--a sort of starved-wolf, haggard, tired-out look,
just exactly like I feel. Aren't I beautifully thin? It's always been
my ambition to be slim and willowy, like the people in fashion plates.
I shall be quite a vision of elegance, shan't I, Whitey?"

"Um! Well," said Whitey vaguely, "you must expect to look very slight
after lying in bed for so long, but it doesn't matter about that. You
won't trouble about appearances, so long as you feel well and strong
again."

"Yes, I shall!" said the invalid stubbornly. She turned her head on one
side and stared intently at the long plaits of hair which trailed over
the pillow--her "Kenwigs" as she had dubbed them, after Charles
Dickens's immortal "Miss Kenwigses," who are pictorially represented in
short frocks, pantaloons, and tight plaits of hair, secured at the ends
by bows of ribbon.

"My Kenwigs look very thin," she said anxiously. "I used to have three
thick coils. People's hair doesn't come out after typhoid fever, does
it, Whitey? I shall be furious if mine does."

"Oh, hair generally comes out a little in autumn," replied Whitey
easily. "Now you have looked at yourself quite long enough. I will put
back the glass and prepare some food while your aunt comes to see you,
but I shall tell her not to talk too much, for the doctor won't let you
be moved if you are looking tired and exhausted."

Sylvia sighed to herself, for interviews with Aunt Margaret were a
decided trial in these days of convalescence, when every nerve seemed on
edge and ready to be jarred. She was nearly twenty-two, and for the
first year after leaving school the dear old dad ha