inquisitive frankness of an invalid for whom etiquette has ceased to
exist.

Remembering in time that this was a forbidden subject, Christie
smiled and shook her head.

"I had a few, but one does not tell those secrets, you know."

Evidently disappointed, and a little displeased at being reminded of
her want of good-breeding, Helen got up and began to wander
restlessly about the room. Presently, as if wishing to atone for her
impatience, she bade Christie come and see her flowers. Following
her, the new companion found herself in a little world where
perpetual summer reigned. Vines curtained the roof, slender shrubs
and trees made leafy walls on either side, flowers bloomed above and
below, birds carolled in half-hidden prisons, aquariums and
ferneries stood all about, and the soft plash of a little fountain
made pleasant music as it rose and fell.

Helen threw herself wearily down on a pile of cushions that lay
beside the basin, and beckoning Christie to sit near, said, as she
pressed her hands to her hot forehead and looked up with a
distressful brightness in the haggard eyes that seemed to have no
rest in them:

"Please sing to me; any humdrum air will do. I am so tired, and yet
I cannot sleep. If my head would only stop this dreadful thinking
and let me forget one hour it would do me so much good."

"I know the feeling, and I'll try what Lucy used to do to quiet me.