"I should like to do it, indeed, Aunt Sarah, if I could only see my way," returned Flora, mischievously. She wondered at her own temerity. At one time she would not have dared use such liberty of speech with this punctilious aunt. But she had grown to be very independent since she had been thrown so entirely upon her own resources, and had become accustomed to think and act both for herself and others. She felt that she had grown, in that she no longer stood in awe of Aunt Sarah's cold tones. Why should she? She had come to ask no favor.
"Well," came in questioning tones from the invalid.
"May I draw up the shades, Aunt Sarah?" asked Flora, advancing slowly into the room and closing the door softly.
"I suppose so. You can draw up anything you like, it makes no difference to me," was the somewhat ungracious reply.
Flora paid no attention to the tone, but drew up the shades, making it possible to see what was in the room.
"Aunt Sarah, how thin you are!" she cried, incautiously. "Why, you have been sick."
"Of course I have. You didn't suppose I was pretending, did you?" retorted Mrs. Martin.
"No," said Flora, "I did not, nor did I know you were so ill. And now tell me, can I do anything to render you more comfortable?"
"No, I think not," she replied. "Yes, you might bring me some toast and a cup of tea," she added a moment later.
As she turned at once to leave the room, Flora wondered in her own mind, whether Mrs. Martin really wished for something to eat. The truth was, Mrs. Martin, now that Flora was here in the house, even in her very room, wished to decide how she could broach the subject which had lain on her heart so long. She was thinking deeply, and did not notice Flora's entrance until she heard: