“Why——” began Erminie, and then she ceased.
Elfie bent lower, and softly inquired:
“What is that you say, dear?”
“Why—am I—” again commenced Erminie, with an effort; but again her voice failed for weakness.
“Why are you here in bed, do you mean to ask, dear?” suggested Elfie.
Erminie nodded.
“You over-exerted yourself and have had an attack of illness; but you are better now—much better, thank Heaven,” answered Elfie, cheerfully.
“How—bloodless—they—” panted Erminie, looking with surprise at her pale fingers, and speaking in the feeble and pointless way common with persons affected as she was, and breaking down before she finished her sentence.
“They were always very white, you know, dear, those fair fingers,” said Elfie, encouragingly.
“No—rosy—rosy-tipped—” murmured Erminie, who, when she had been well in mind and body, had been without the least vanity.