rubbed the place, so cleverly and gently, she almost made a suffragist of me. Women who did things so well deserved the vote.
"Do you want the vote?" I asked her feebly.
"I want you to lie quite still," was her inappropriate answer. I seemed to be wasting words. The room was slowly filling with the scent of flowers. When I shut my eyes I saw growing pots of hyacinth, then lilies, floating in deep glass bowls, afterwards Suzanne came in, and began folding up my clothes, in her fat lethargic way.
"I thought Suzanne went away."
"So she did."
"Who is in the room, then?"
"No one. Only you and I."
"And Dr. Kennedy?"
"No."
"You have sent for him?"
"I thought you wouldn't care for me to give you a morphia injection."
"Why not ? You give it better than he does. I want to see him when he comes."
"You may be asleep."
"No! I shan't. Morphia keeps me awake, comfortably awake. De Quincey used to go to the opera when he was full up with it."
Peter Kennedy came in, and I followed the line of my own thoughts. I was feeling drowsy.
"I don't want you to play for me," I said, a
