"Oh, that's all right," said Nellie Pope.
"Is it? Are you a nurse?"
"Yes," she said.
"Is this a hospital?"
"Yes,—that is, a nursing home," she said.
"Oh!" said Peter. "Where's Kenyon?"
"I don't know, dearie."
"What on earth was that filth that he gave me to drink? I carried the books into his room, and then I'm hanged if I can remember—I've got a most frightful headache. Every time I move my head seems to split in half. How long have I been here? Was I poisoned, or what?"
"Now don't you talk or you'll get me into trouble. You go off to sleep like a good boy. You'll be all right in the morning."
"Shall I? That's good." And he heaved a big sigh and obeyed. It was extraordinary how sleep came to his rescue.