Not at present, therefore, was she willing Bertram should know what she was attempting to do.
Billy had not yet learned what the great surgeon had said to Bertram.
She knew only that his arm was no better, and that he never voluntarily spoke of his painting.

Over her now seemed to be hanging a vague horror.
Something was the matter.

She knew that.

But what it was she could not fathom.

She realized that Arkwright was trying to help, and her gratitude, though silent, knew no bounds.