"You probably did some very serious thinking, too."
Halkett nodded. He remembered that part vividly—the thinking part. He recollected perfectly where his thoughts were concentrated as he came fluttering down out of the sky. But on whom they were centered he never would tell as long as he lived.
Sister Eila came in.
Halkett placed her; she and Philippa exchanged faint smiles; then the two men resumed their seats.
"Monsieur Bolton is now asleep," she said, speaking to Halkett and looking at her plate. "Tomorrow we shall move him to the east wing of the Château. We shall have many wounded tomorrow, I believe."
"Yes. Sister Félicité told me," said Warner. He looked at her for a moment. "Are you well, Sister Eila?"
"Why, yes; I am perfectly well."
"You look very pale. Do you ever find time to sleep?"
"Sufficiently, thank you," she replied, smiling. "You know we are very tough, we Sisters of Charity. There is a saying that nothing but death can kill a Grey Sister."
Warner laughed, Halkett forced a smile.