'Oh, yes, I am; am I not strong enough, doctor?'
Dr. Reed looked for a moment steadily at Alice. 'Your sister will,' he said, 'require a good deal of looking after. But if you will not overdo it, I think you seem quite strong enough to nurse her. But you must not sit up at night with her too regularly; you must share the labour with someone.'
'She will do that with me,' said Mrs. Barton, speaking more kindly,
Alice thought, than she had ever heard her speak before.
Then a wailing voice was heard calling to Alice.
'Go in and see what she wants, dear, but you will not encourage her to talk much; the doctor does not wish it.'
The room did not look the same to Alice as it had ever looked before. Her eyes fell on the Persian rugs laid between the two white beds and the tall glass in the wardrobe where Olive wasted half-an-hour every evening, examining her beauty. Would she ever do so again? Now a broken reflection of feverish eyes and blonde hair was what remained. The white curtains of the chimneypiece had been drawn aside, a bright fire was burning, and Barnes was removing a foot-pan of hot water.
'Sit down here by me, Alice; I want to talk to you.'
'The doctor has forbidden you to talk, dear; he says you must have perfect rest and quiet.'
'I must talk a little to you; if I didn't I should go mad.'
'Well, what is it, dear?'