"Have I been rambling?" she asked. "What have I said? You know my name!"
The nurse smiled.
"Your things are marked," she explained. "But there was no address, nothing which could help us to communicate with your friends, or we would have done so. You will tell us where to send now, will you not?"
Ida blushed again and felt troubled. Why should she annoy and worry the Herons? She shuddered slightly as she pictured her cousin John standing beside the bed where the sweet and pleasant-faced sister now stood, and preaching at her. They would want to take her back to Loburnum Villa; and Ida regarded the prospect of return to that cheerful abode of the Christian virtues as a prisoner might regard the prospect of returning to his gaol. The sister regarded her keenly without appearing to do so.
"Perhaps you would rather remain quietly for a few days, Miss Heron?" she suggested, sweetly.
Ida's eyes—they looked preternaturally large, violet orbs in her white face—beamed gratefully.
"Oh, yes, yes! if I may. Shall I be ill long?—how soon will it be before I can go?"
It is about as difficult to get a definite answer from a nurse as from a doctor.
"Oh, some days yet," replied the sister, cheerfully. "You must not go until you are quite strong; in fact, we should not let you. Now you lie quite still and try and sleep again if you can; and you can think over whether you would like to communicate with your friends or not. If you ask my advice, I shall say, like Mr. Punch, 'Don't!'"
"I won't," said Ida, with her rare smile.