XII“Yes; this morning I think you can see her. She seems ever so much better; not in such a fearful hurry, I mean.”
Pauline, from her dressing-room, overheard Maisie Bruss. She smiled at the description of herself, sent a thought of gratitude to Alvah Loft, and called out: “Is that Nona? I’ll be there in a minute. Just finishing my exercises …”
She appeared, fresh and tingling, draped in a restful dove-coloured wrapper, and offered Nona a smooth cheek. Miss Bruss had vanished, and mother and daughter had to themselves the sunny room, full of flowers and the scent of a wood-fire.
“How wonderful you look, mother! All made over. Have you been trying some new exercises?”
Pauline smiled and pulled up the soft eiderdown coverlet at the foot of her lounge. She sank comfortably back among her
