th age, but soft; and the softness of it, and the kindness of her look— which, for all that she was mad, was the first piece of kindness that anyone had shown me since I came to the house—made me begin to cry again. Nurse Bacon looked over. ''I''ve got my eye on you,'' she said to me. ''Don''t think I haven''t.'' Then she settled back in her chair. Betty still worked grease into her fingers.
I said quietly,
''You mustn''t think I cry so easily as this, at home.''
''I am sure you do not,'' answered Miss Wilson.
''I''m only so frightened they will keep me here. I have been done very wrong. They say I am mad.''
''You must keep your spirit. This house is not so hard as some others. But nor is it perfectly kind. The air of this room, for example, that we must breathe, like oxen in a stall. The suppers. They call us ladies, yet the food—the merest pap!—I should blush to see it served to a gardener''s boy.''
Her voice had risen. Nurse Bacon looked over again, and curled her lip.
''I should like to see you blush, you phantom!'' she said.
Miss Wilson worked her mouth and looked embarrassed.
''A reference,'' she said to me, ''to my pallor. Will you believe me if I tell you, there is a substance in the water here, related to chalk—? But, hush! No more of that!''
She waved her hand, and looked for a moment so mad, my heart quite sank.
''Have you been here very long?'' I asked, when her fluttering hand had fallen.