Arnold moved on the pillow and saw her standing in the door. The bars of
the bed's foot were in the way. He tried to lift his head to surmount
the obstruction, and the Sister perceived her too.
"I think absolutely still was our order, wasn't it, Mr. Arnold?" she
said, with her little pink smile. "And I'm afraid Miss Howe isn't in
time to be of much use to us, is she?" It was the bedside pleasantry
that expected no reply, that indeed forbade one.
"I'm sorry," Hilda said. As she moved into the room she detached her
eyes from Arnold's, feeling as she did so that it was like tearing
something.
"There was so little to do," Sister Margaret said. "Surgeon-Major Wills
saw at once where the mischief lay. Nothing disagreeable was necessary,
was it, Mr. Arnold? Perfect quiet, perfect rest--that's an easy
prescription to take." She had rather prominent, very blue eyes, and an
aquiline nose and a small firm mouth, and her pink cheeks were beginning
to be a little pendulous with age. Hilda gazed at her silently, noting
about her authority and her flowing draperies something classical. Was
she like one of the Fates? She approached the bed to do something to the
pillow--Hilda had an impulse to push her away with the cry, "It is not
time yet--Atropos!"
"I must go now for an hour or so," the Sister went on.
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