her
vacuous and silent.

"Dearest child, you are not very well, I think," she said at last.

Maggie roused herself suddenly.

"What, Auntie?"

"You are not very well, I think. Did you sleep well?"

"Oh! I slept all right," said Maggie vaguely.

* * * * *

But after tea Mrs. Baxter did not feel very well herself. She said she
thought she must have taken a little chill. Maggie looked at her with
unperceptive eyes.

"I am sorry," she said mechanically.

"Dearest, you don't seem very overwhelmed. I think perhaps I shall
have dinner in bed. Give me my book, child.... Yes, and the
pencil-case."

Mrs. Baxter's room was so comfortable, and the book so fascinatingly
spiritual, that she determined to keep her resolution and go to bed.
She felt feverish, just to the extent of being very sleepy and at her
ease. She rang her bell and issued her commands.

"A little of the _volaille_," she said, "with a spoonful of soup
before it.... No, no meat; but a custard or so, and a little fruit.
Oh! yes, Charlotte, and tell Miss Maggie not to come and see me after
dinner."

It seemed that the message had roused the dear girl at last, for
Maggie appeared ten minutes later in quite a different mood. There was
really some animation in her face.

"Dear Auntie, I am so very sorry.... Yes; do go to bed, and breakfast
there in the morning too. I'm just writing to Laurie, by the way."

Mrs. Baxter nodded sleepily from her deep chair.

"He's coming down in Easter week, isn't he?"

"So he says, my dear."

"Why shouldn't he come next week instead, Auntie, and be with us for
Easter? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Very nice indeed, dear child; but don't bother the boy."

"And you don't think it's influenza?" put in Maggie swiftly, laying a
cool hand on the old lady's.

She maintained it was not. It was just a little chill, such as she had
had this time last year: and it became necessary to rouse herself a
little to enumerate the symptoms. By the time she had done, Maggie's
attention had begun to wander again: the old lady had never known her
so unsympathetic before, and said so with gentle peevishness.

Maggie kissed her quickly.

"I'm sorry, Auntie," she said. "I was just thinking of
something. Sleep well; and don't get up in the morning."

Then she left her to a spoonful of soup, a little _volaille_, a
custard, some fruit, her spiritual book and contentment.

Downstairs she dined alone i