and she herself had taken the liberty (as she confessed to this she threw off one of her odd laughs, and her colour rose), of sending an elderly, respectable person—a kind of nurse. She was out just then; she had to go, for an hour, for the air—'only when I come, of course,' said Lady Aurora. Dear Miss Pynsent had had a cold hanging about her, and had not taken care of it. Hyacinth would know how plucky she was about that sort of thing; she took so little interest in herself. 'Of course a cold is a cold, whoever has it; isn't it?' said Lady Aurora. Ten days before, she had taken an additional chill through falling asleep in her chair, in the evening, down there, and letting the fire go out. 'It would have been nothing if she had been like you or me, you know,' her ladyship went on; 'but just as she was then, it made the difference. The day was horribly damp, and it had struck into the lungs, and inflammation had set in. Mr. Buffery says she was impoverished, just rather low and languid, you know.' The next morning she had bad pains and a good deal of fever, yet she had got up. Poor Pinnie's gracious ministrant did not make clear to Hyacinth what time had elapsed before she came to her relief, nor by what means she had been notified, and he saw that she slurred this over from the admirable motive of wishing him not to feel that the little dressmaker had suffered by his absence or called for him in vain. This, apparently, had indeed not been the case, if Pinnie had opposed, successfully, his being written to. Lady Aurora only said, 'I came in very soon, it was such a delightful chance. Since then she has had everything; only it's sad to see a person
