"When I saw your name, I remembered it at once," she went on. "I was
there--I was a probationer at St. Chad's Hospital at that time."
"Dear me!" said Collingwood, "I should have thought our histrionic
efforts would have been forgotten. I'm afraid I don't remember much
about them, except that we had a lot of fun out of the affair. So you
were at St. Chad's?" he continued, with a reminiscence of the
surroundings of the institution they were talking of. "Very different to
Normandale!"
"Yes," she replied. "Very--very different to Normandale. But when I was
at St. Chad's, I didn't know that I--that we should ever come to
Normandale."
"And now that you are here?" he asked.
The girl looked out through the big window on the valley which lay in
front of the old house, and she shook her head a little.
"It's very beautiful," she answered, "but I sometimes wish I was back at
St. Chad's--with something to do. Here--there's nothing to do but to do
nothing." Collingwood realized that this was not the complaint of the
well-to-do young woman who finds time hang heavy--it was rather
indicative of a desire for action.
"I understand!" he said. "I think I should feel like that. One wants--I
suppose--is it action, movement, what is it?"
"Better call it occupation--that's a plain term," she answered. "We're
both suffering from lack of occupation here, my brother and I.
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