We thought--scarlet fever--no spots--can't think--perhaps your little girl." "Poor Mrs.Kitson.How tiresome for you.

Do sit down.

Perhaps Sarah----" Sarah shook her head.
"She didn't say she'd a headache in the garden the other day." Mrs.Kitson gazed appealingly at the little black figure in front of her.
"Do try and remember, dear.

Perhaps she told you something." "Nothing" said Sarah.
"She cries and cries," said Mrs.Kitson, about whose person little white strings and tapes seemed to be continually appearing and disappearing.
"Perhaps she's eaten something ?" suggested Lady Charlotte.
When Mrs.Kitson had departed, Lady Charlotte turned to Sarah.
"What have you done to the poor child ?" she said.
"Nothing," said Sarah.

"I never want to see her again." "Then you _have_ done something ?" said Lady Charlotte.
"She's always crying," said Sarah, "and she calls her kitten Alice," as though that were explanation sufficient.
The strange truth remains, however, that the night that followed this conversation was the first unpleasant one that Sarah had ever spent; she remained awake during a great part of it.