Verena went into the nursery. Pauline was sometimes there. She was fond of sitting by the cosy nursery fire with a book in her hand, which of late she only pretended to read. Verena opened the nursery door and poked in her bright head and face.
“Come in, Miss Renny, come in,” said nurse.
“I am not going to stay, nurse. Ah, Marjorie, my pet! Come and give me a sweet kiss.”
The little baby sister toddled across the floor. Verena lifted her in her arms and kissed her affectionately.
“I thought perhaps Miss Pauline was here, nurse. Do you happen to know where she is?”
“Miss Pauline has a very bad headache,” said nurse—“so bad that I made her go and lie down; and I have just lit a bit of fire in her bedroom, for she is chilly, too, poor pet! Miss Pauline hasn’t been a bit herself since that nasty accident.”
“I am sure she hasn’t; but I did not know she was suffering from headache. I will go to her.”
Verena ran along the passage. Her own room faced south; Pauline’s, alongside of it, had a window which looked due east. Verena softly opened the door. The chamber was tiny, but it was wonderfully neat and cheerful. A bright fire burned in the small grate. Pauline was lying partly over on her side; her face was hidden. Her dark hair was tumbled about the pillow.
“Paulie, it is I,” said Verena. “Are you awake?”
“Oh, yes,” said Pauline.