'She will not object to an old friend; anyhow, we must brave her displeasure. Will you lead the way, Miss Lambert?'
They found Olive sitting huddled up in her old position, and looking wan and feverish. She shaded her eyes a little fretfully from the candle Mildred carried, and looked at Dr. Heriot rather strangely and with some displeasure.
'How do you feel to-night, Olive?' he asked kindly, possessing himself with some difficulty of the dry languid hand, and scrutinising with anxiety the sunken countenance before him. Two days of agitation and suppressed illness had quite altered the girl's appearance.
'I am well—at least, only tired—there is nothing the matter with me. Aunt Milly ought not to have troubled you,' still irritably.
'Aunt Milly knows trouble is sometimes a pleasure. You are not well, Olive, or you would not be so cross with your old friend.'
She hesitated, put up her hand to her head, and looked ready to burst into tears.
'Come,' he continued, sitting down beside her, and speaking gently as though to a child, 'you are ill or unhappy—or both, and talking makes your head ache.'
'Yes,' she returned, mechanically, 'it is always aching now, but it is nothing.'
'Most people are not so stoical. You must not keep things so much to yourself, Olive. If you would own the truth I daresay you have felt languid and disinclined to move for several days?'
'I daresay. I cannot remember,' she faltered; but his keen, steady glance was compelling her to rouse herself.