"You're tired, dearest-dear." Sophie's worried eyes noted the weariness of gesture and tone, and the shadows under Diana's eyes as she untied her veil and took off her hat.
"Yes, I'm tired, dead tired." Diana dropped into a chair, and laid her head against the cushioned back.
Sophie bent over her. "You're not comfortable," she said; "come on down to your room and take a hot bath, and I'll heat a cup of milk, and then you can rest all warm and comfy, and I'll rub your head."
"Sophie," said Diana, suddenly, "I wonder if I ever rubbed anybody's head?"
"Of course," said Sophie; "what makes you say that?"
"Because I've been thinking a lot since I went to town, and it seems to me that all my life I've just taken and have not given. I took Anthony's love—I've taken your service——" She held out her hand. "Oh, I've been a selfish pig, Sophie, darling."
Sophie took the extended hand and patted it. "What a silly thing to say," soothingly; "you've always been everything—to me, Diana. You've done so much for me that I can never repay."
"Oh, yes, in giving big things—but it's the little things that count—like heating cups of milk and rubbing people's heads."
She said it whimsically, but there were tears in her eyes.
"You come right down and go to bed," Sophie advised. "And we can talk all about it afterward."