She raised her head, and suddenly memory awoke, too, and the horror swooped down upon her like a vast-winged, evil bird. She sank again on the pillow and hid her eyes with her hand.
“The light too strong, dear?”
Stella nodded. Words and shapes were now clearly defined. The nurse took her temperature. It was virtually normal.
“It must have been a touch of the sun, darling, as the doctor said,” remarked the nurse. “But, thank heavens! you 're better. You gave us all such a fright.”
“I'm sorry,” said Stella. “It was n't my fault.”
IT was a new and baffling Stellamaris that entered the world again. She went about the house silent and preoccupied. Joy was quenched in her eyes, and her features hardened. The lifelong terms of endearment from the two old people met with no response. Their morning and evening kisses she endured passively. They had become to her as strangers, having gradually undergone a curious metamorphosis from the Great High Excellency and Most Exquisite Auntship of her childhood into a certain Sir Oliver and Lady Blount, personages of bone and flesh of an abominable world, in whom she could place no trust.
One evening before going up-stairs, she picked up a French novel which Sir Oliver had left in the drawing-room.
“Don't read that, Stella dear,” said Lady Blount.
“Why?” asked Stella.
“I don't think it's suitable for young girls.”