Kitty cheerfully dismissed any possibility of discussion.
"It's quite settled, my dear. You'll be feeling it all far worse to-morrow than to-day. So get into bed now as quickly as possible."
"This milk's absolutely boiling," complained Nan irritably. "I can't drink it."
"Then undress first and drink it when you're in bed. I'll brush your hair for you."
It goes without saying that Kitty had her way—it was a very kind-hearted way—and before long Nan was sipping her glass of milk and gratefully realising the illimitable comfort which a soft bed brings to weary limbs.
"By the way, I've some news for you," announced Kitty, as she sat perched on the edge of the bed, smoking one of the tiny gold-tipped cigarettes she affected.
"News? What news?"
"Well, guess who's coming here?"
Nan named one or two mutual friends, only to be met by a triumphant negative. Finally Kitty divulged her secret.
"Why, Peter Mallory!"