do anything she's told to do. I sometimes get tired of making the other
women do as they're told, but I wish sometimes she'd be a bit more like
them. You'll be ready for your tea soon, won't you, Jane?" she added in
the cheerful professional tone intended to deceive the sick.

"Yes, please," said Jane, without looking round.

"Here's Miss Hilton come all this way to see you," said the Matron a
little more sharply. "Can't you say anything to her? you may not have so
many friends come to see you as you expect, you know."

There was no echo from the abyss of misery in which Jane was sunken. She
neither replied nor stirred. With the flight of Burton all hope had been
killed within her; and without hope she had fallen like a bird with one
wing broken. She was defenceless, and her misery laid open to all. She
could only keep still, lest it should be tortured by being handled.

"You must think of the child, you know," said the Matron. "He'll depend
on you altogether, and you mustn't give in like this. She doesn't care,"
she added to Anne as Jane still sat without a tremor of understanding.
"It's a bad sign. I can't even rouse her with speaking of Burton. She's
given up hope of him. It's like as if something's dead inside her.
Doctor says it's shock."

"I should say it's temper," said a voice from one of the beds. "Petting
and spoiling all day long." The voice came from an old woman, with a
soft, withered face and infantile blue eyes.

"Now then, where did you hide that thermometer?" said the Matron, with a
good-natured laugh. "You know, Miss Hilton, this old lady's a famous