“Oh, dear me! I wish somebody would take care of me,” complained the person on the sofa. “My dear woman, now that Miss Pepper is all right, will you give me a little attention? I am wringing wet, and as cold as ice.”
Old Mrs. Benson never turned her head. One of the sailors looked in. “Bring me some hot water,” she said.
“Oh, my good sir!” exclaimed the other woman, springing up to a sitting posture, “will you come here? I want you this instant.”
“Bring the hot water!” commanded Mrs. Benson—and he disappeared.
“I do not suppose you know who I am, you ignorant, low-down woman,” cried the other passionately. “I am Mrs. Livingston Bayley of New York, now of Bayley Manor, England. Now will you cease your insults to me?”
“Any change?”
The surgeon’s lips framed the word “no,” as he turned his face an instant; in a second he darted back like lightning, and seized a spoonful of restorative which he held to the white lips. A long-drawn sigh, faint but distinct, was heard. Old Mrs. Benson hid her face on Phronsie’s arm and cried like a child—this time for joy.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE SHADOW TURNS TO SUNSHINE.
POLLY stood by her window looking out with a happy face.
Barby glanced up from her play on the floor and saw her so, and immediately dropped everything and scrambled off, climbing a chair by Polly’s side.