She gave a final and feeble rock. Both revolving faces paled. Then there sounded a loud pop—like the bursting of an automobile tire. Next, a ripping—
"Look!" cried Gwendolyn.
There were great rents down the front seams of Jane's waist!
The nurse guessed what had happened, and clutched desperately at the gaping seams with both fat hands—now in front, now at the sides, striving to hold the rips together.
To no avail! All the laughter was gone out of her. Quickly she collapsed, her sateen hanging in loose, ragged strips. Once more she was just ordinary nurse-maid size.
"Oh, will she die?" asked Gwendolyn, anxiously.
The Doctor knelt to grasp Jane's wrist. "No," he answered gravely; "she'll only have to go back to the Employment Agency."
"I won't!" cried Jane. "I won't!—Miss Royle!"
"Hiss-ss-ss!"
"Get you-know-what out of the way! A certain person musn't talk to it! If she does she'll find—"