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At last she spoke out bravely--
"Froeken!"--she paused,--Thelma seemed not to hear her. "Froeken!--has
anything vexed or grieved you today?"
Thelma started nervously. "Vexed me--grieved me?" she repeated. "No,
Britta--why do you ask?"
"You look very tired, dear Froeken," continued Britta gently. "You are
not as bright as you were when we first came to London."
Thelma's lips quivered. "I--I am not well, Britta," she murmured, and
suddenly her self-control gave way, and she broke into tears. In an
instant Britta was kneeling by her, coaxing and caressing her, and
calling her by every endearing name she could think of, while she wisely
forbore from asking any more questions. Presently her sobs grew
calmer,--she rested her fair head against Britta's shoulder and smiled
faintly. At that moment a light tap was heard outside, and a voice
called--
"Thelma! Are you there?"
Britta opened the door, and Sir Philip entered hurriedly and
smiling--but stopped short to survey his wife in dismay.


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