“You are sure to have them,” Alicia said. “They crop up wherever you go in this world, either before you or behind you.”
Hilda fixed her eyes attentively upon her companion. “Sometimes,” she said, “you say things that are extremely true in their general bearing. A fortuneteller with cards gives one the same shock of surprise. Well, let me tell you, I have been promoted to temperatures. I took thirty-five to-day. Next week I am to make poultices; the week after, baths and fomentations.”
“What are the others like—the other novices?”
“Nearly all Eurasians, one native, a Hindu widow—the Sisters are almost demonstrative to her—and one or two local European girls: the commissariat sergeant class, I should think.”
“They don't sound attractive, and I am glad. You will depend the more upon me.”
Hilda looked thoughtfully at Miss Livingstone. “I will depend,” she said, “a good deal upon you.”
It was Alicia's fate to meet the Archdeacon again that evening at dinner. “And is she really throwing her heart into the work?” asked that dignitary, referring to Miss Howe.
“Oh, I think so,” Alicia said. “Yes.”