For the rest of that day she let it wash; unresistingly. She couldn't think any more. She couldn't feel any more,-not that day. She really had a headache; and when the dusk came, and Wemyss turned on the lights, it was evident even to him that she had, for there was no colour at all in her face and her eyes were puffed and leaden.
He had one of his sudden changes. 'Come here,' he said, reaching out and drawing her on to his knee; and he held her face against his breast, and felt full of maternal instincts, and crooned over her. 'Was it a poor little baby,' he crooned. 'Did it have a headache then--' And he put his great cool hand on her hot forehead and kept it there.
Lucy gave up trying to understand anything at all any more. These swift changes,-she couldn't keep up with them; she was
