She nodded.
"I know. I remember feeling like that when I got up after the measles, years ago."
"Not many years ago," he suggested, with a faint smile.
"It seems a long time ago to me," said Nell. "I remember that for weeks and months after I got well I hated the sight and smell of beef tea and arrowroot. And Doctor Spence—your doctor, you know—gave me a glass of ale one day, and stood over me while I drank it. He can be very firm when he likes, not to say obstinate."
Mr. Vernon listened to the musical voice, and looked at the slim, girlish figure and spirituelle face absently; and when there fell a silence he showed no disposition to break it. It was difficult to find anything to talk about with so young and inexperienced a girl, and it was almost with an air of relief that he turned as Mrs. Lorton entered.
"And how do you feel now?" she asked, with bated breath. "Weak and faint, I'm afraid. I know how exhausting one feels the first time of getting down. Eleanor, I do hope you have not been tiring Mr. Vernon by talking too much."
Mr. Vernon struggled with a frown.
"Miss Lorton has scarcely said two words," he said. "I assure you, my dear madame, that there is absolutely nothing the matter with me, and that—that I could stand a steam phonograph."
"I am so glad!" simpered Mrs. Lorton. "I have brought this week's Society News. I thought it might amuse you if I read some of the paragraphs—Eleanor, I think you might read them. Don't you think indolence is one of the greatest sins of the day, Mr. Vernon?" she broke off to inquire.
Vernon smiled grimly, and glanced at Nell, who colored under the amused expression in his eyes.