Betty was still mild. She swished to the window and raised the
shade.

"I'm SO sorry you are ill," she said sympathetically. "This is
for your poor aching head. Now close your eyes and lie perfectly
still, and I will cool your forehead."

"There's nothing the matter with my head," Aunt Selina retorted.
"And I have not lost my faculties; I am not a child or a sick
cow. If that's perfumery, take it out."

We heard Betty coming to the door, but there was no time to get
away. She had dropped her mask for a minute and was biting her
lip, but when she saw us she forced a smile.

"She's ill, poor dear," she said. "If you people will go away, I
can bring her around all right. In two hours she will eat out of
my hand."

"Eat a piece out of your hand," Max scoffed in a whisper.

We waited a little longer, but it was too painful. Aunt Selina
demanded a mustard foot bath and a hot lemonade and her back
rubbed with liniment and some strong black tea. And in the
intervals she wanted to be read to out of the prayer book. And
when we had all gone away, there came the most terrible noise
from Aunt Selina's room, and every one ran. We found Betty in the
hall outside the door, crying, with her fingers in her ears and
her cap over her eye. She said she had been putting the hot water