camels. Josephine frowned heavily--concentrated. If it hadn't been for
this idiotic woman she and Con would, of course, have eaten their
blancmange without. Suddenly the idea came.

"I know," she said. "Marmalade. There's some marmalade in the sideboard.
Get it, Con."

"I hope," laughed Nurse Andrews--and her laugh was like a spoon tinkling
against a medicine-glass--"I hope it's not very bittah marmalayde."


Chapter 3.III.

But, after all, it was not long now, and then she'd be gone for good. And
there was no getting over the fact that she had been very kind to father.
She had nursed him day and night at the end. Indeed, both Constantia and
Josephine felt privately she had rather overdone the not leaving him at the
very last. For when they had gone in to say good-bye Nurse Andrews had sat
beside his bed the whole time, holding his wrist and pretending to look at
her watch. It couldn't have been necessary. It was so tactless, too.
Supposing father had wanted to say something--something private to them.
Not that he had. Oh, far from it! He lay there, purple, a dark, angry
purple in the face, and never even looked at them when they came in. Then,
as they were standing there, wondering what to do, he had suddenly opened
one eye. Oh, what a difference it would have made, what a difference to
their memory of him, how much easier to tell people about it, if he had
only opened both! But no--one eye only. It glared at them a moment and
then...went out.