The night nurse was dusting the room preparatory to going off duty for the day, and Sylvia was lying on her water-bed watching her movements with gloomy, disapproving eyes. For four long weeks--ever since the crisis had passed and she had come back to consciousness of her surroundings--she had watched the same proceeding morning after morning, until its details had become almost unbearably wearisome to her weak nerves. First of all came Mary to sweep the floor--she went down on her knees, and swept up the dust with a small hand-brush, and however carefully she might begin, it was quite, quite certain that she would end by knocking up against the legs of the bed, and giving a jar and shock t…
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