Doctor's Orders by Eleanor Farnes

But if you like to wander in the mountains, and to read, and to enjoy a little music on rainy evenings—of the simple sort—and a little conversation, and a few games; then indeed you can be happy here.”
    My goodness, wondered Diana, whatever will Anthea do? She could not see Anthea being satisfied with such simple recreations. They had brought a great many books, but Anthea did not care to read; nor did she care for walking, especially on lonely mountains. Diana saw a big problem facing her; but she shelved it for the moment to talk to this charming and friendly stranger.
    When she went back to Anthea, she found her looking idly through magazines.
    “Feeling better now?” asked Diana.
    “Much. I’ll be quite all right again in the morning. What was it like downstairs?”
    “Quiet, rather. I gather it is rather early in the season for this place. They close all the winter, but will be very busy later on.”
    “Anybody interesting?”
    “Well, from your point of view, I don’t know. I met a very distinguished old lady ... ”
    “Old ladies,” interrupted Anthea, disgustedly. “Any men?”
    “Not young ones, I’m afraid. One or two middle - aged ones in attendance on their wives.”
    “Good heavens above! Now do you see what you’ve brought me to? I can’t possibly stay here.”
    “You never know who may come tomorrow or the next day or next week. Anything can happen.”
    “I’ve already made my guess about this place,” said Anthea. “Nothing can happen here—nothing that will interest me.” But in that, she was quite wrong.
    From the beginning of their stay at the Morgenberg, Anthea was a little out of place. Everybody else was aware of it, and Anthea felt it every moment.
    She was the hothouse plant in the open garden, strange, exotic, in the wrong element. Her character was unsuited to this quiet life: she had been brought up by a selfish, worldly mother who taught her that the worldly life was the only one worth leading, and who had sent her to private schools and finishing schools that entirely endorsed this view. She thrived among the theatres, night-clubs, race meetings, beauty parlors, gossip and malicious wit of her mother’s world—as far as her likes and dislikes were concerned. Her health, however, could not thrive upon it, when it was allied to a vanity-prompted, stringent diet. She found none of these things that she liked at the Morgenberg, and if her character was unsuited to this life, so was her appearance. Her clothes were all too expensive, too smart, too little adapted to the needs of the place. She persisted in wearing her high heels as long as she was in the hotel or on the plateau, and as Diana could rarely persuade her to go farther, it was seldom that she was seen in sensible shoes. Her fine, silver-blonde hair, hanging to her shoulders, looked quite unnatural now, and the jewellery she customarily wore—expensive gold bracelets with their load of curious charms, clips ornamented with jewels—was as out of place as the rest of her. She looked a picture of suffering boredom as she moved herself and her possessions from one vantage point, of which she had tired, to another, of which she would soon also weary. She was, in short, a suitable guest at the Splendides of any country, but not at the Morgenbergs.
    Her boredom was bound to affect Diana. She grumbled continually. Every day she said she did not know how long she could stand it. She was so obviously at odds with life that Diana began to wonder if it could possibly do her any good to remain, and if it would be better to find another place, with at least a little more life.
    It was while she pondered this question in her mind that she returned to the hotel one day, from a short walk on the mountain, to find herself face to face with Dr. Frederic in the small hall. She was so surprised that words failed her.
    “Ah,” he said, “it is Miss Pevrill. I was about to make enquiries for your young friend, Anthea.”
    “I