"Paul gave me a book once. I've got it here with me in my box. It's called The Memories of a German Singer. Would you like to read it?"
"That book!" Sylvia exclaimed, scornfully. "Why, it's the filthiest book I ever read."
"You are shocked, then," the governess whispered. "I thought you'd be more broad-minded. I sha'n't tell you now about Prince Paul. He makes love divinely. He said it was so thrilling to make love to somebody like me who looked so proper. I'm dreadfully afraid that when I get back I shall find he's gone to fight. It's awful to think how dull it will be without George or Paul. Haven't you had any interesting love-affairs?"
"Good God!" exclaimed Sylvia, angrily. "Do you think there's anything to be proud of in having love-affairs like yours? Do you think there's anything fine in letting yourself be treated like a servant by a lascivious boy? You make me feel sick. How dare you assume that I should be interested in your—oh, I have no word to call it that can be even spoken in a whisper."
"You are proper," the governess murmured, resentfully. "I thought girls on the stage were more broad-minded."
"Is this muttering going to continue all night?" an angry voice demanded. Farther along the ward could be heard the sound of a bed rattling with indignation.
The nun pushed back her screen, and the candle-light illumined Madame Benzer sitting up on her ample haunches.
"One must not talk," said the nun, reproachfully. "One disturbs the patients. Besides, it is against the rules to talk after the lights are put out."
"Well, please move me away from here," Sylvia asked, "because if mademoiselle stays here I shall have to talk."
"I'm sure I'd much rather not stay in this bed," declared Miss Savage in an injured voice. "And I was only whispering. There was no noise until mademoiselle began to talk quite loudly."