"How tired and pale you look. I do believe you are fagged out nursing her. Do let me help, if I can be of any use to you."
"You cannot help me, thank you," said Prudence, with a sudden impulse to kiss her. "She does not like anyone else to come near her."
"Cross, tyrannical old thing," thought little Miss Belcher, who pitied Prudence for the slavery to which she submitted from her sister.
"Well, cheer up, dear Miss Prudence," she said sympathetically. "I am glad she is better. Perhaps she may be all right to-morrow."
"I'm sure I hope so," answered the depressed Prudence, as she made her way to her own apartment. To-night she had no heart to enter the drawing-room and angle for a few words of conversation from Major Jones, round-eyed, stupid Mr. Batley, or gruff Mr. Lorimer, or to join the game of whist that so often resulted in personalities.
There was still a painful scene before her. She must tell her sister that Mrs. Geldheraus had left England, and that there was consequently no immediate hope of her resuming
