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When she got back to her room, she found a small packet on her table. It contained Mr. Reffold's watch-chain. She had so often seen him playing with it. There was a little piece of paper enclosed with it, and Mr. Reffold had written on it some two months ago: "Give my watch- chain to Little Brick, if she will sacrifice a little of her pride, and accept the gift."
But whether out of perversity or not, Bernardine never would be avoided by her, never let her pass by without a: few words of conversation, and always went to her for information, much to the amusement of Mrs. Reffold's faithful attendants. There was always a twinkle in Bernardine's eye when she spoke with Mrs. Reffold. She never fastened herself on to any one; no one could say she intruded.
She knew from the effort which those few words had cost her, how far removed she was from her old former self. "Good-bye, Mrs. Reffold," she said nervously. "Good-bye, Miss Holme," was the only answer. THE Doctors in Petershof always said that the caretakers of the invalids were a much greater anxiety than the invalids themselves.
Mrs. Reffold was not the only sinner in this respect. It would have been interesting to get together a tea-party of invalids alone, and set the ball rolling about the respective behaviours of their respective friends. Not a pleasing chronicle: no very choice pages to add to the book of real life; still, valuable items in their way, representative of the actual as opposed to the ideal.
He is dead." Mrs. Reffold gave a slight start, for she began to feel that this insignificant little person was making fun of her. This would never do, and before witnesses too. So she gathered together her best resources and said: "Dear me, how very unfortunate: a genius too. Death is indeed cruel.
Do we want to know first and foremost whether we shall do our work better elsewhere: whether we shall be endowed with more wisdom: whether, as poor Mr. Reffold said, we shall be glad to behave less like curs, and more like heroes? These questions come in, but they can be put aside. The other question can never be put on one side.
She stopped suddenly, surprised at her boldness. Mrs. Reffold was still leaning back in the arm-chair, her hands clasped together above her beautiful head. Her face was pale. She did not speak. Bernardine waited. The silence was unbroken save by the merry cries of some children tobogganing in the Kurhaus garden. The stillness grew oppressive, and Bernardine rose.
Reffold," Bernardine said; and the nurse showed her into the pleasant sitting-room. Mr. Reffold was lying on the sofa. He looked up as Bernardine came in, and a smile of pleasure spread over his wan face. "I don't know whether I intrude," said Bernardine; "but Mrs. Reffold said I might come to see you." Mr. Reffold signed to the nurse to withdraw. She had never before spoken to him.
He settles every question of that sort to his own satisfaction, but not always to the satisfaction of other people!" "He is a curious person," Mrs. Reffold said smiling; "though I must say he is not quite as gruff as he used to be. You seem to be good friends with him." She would have liked to say more on this subject, but experience had taught her that Bernardine was not to be trifled with.
There was no special reason why she should like her; she certainly had no cause to admire her every-day behaviour, nor her neglect of her invalid husband, who was passing away, uncared for in the present, and not likely to be mourned for in the future. Mrs. Reffold was gay, careless, and beautiful. She understood nothing about nursing, and cared less. So a trained nurse looked after Mr.
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