‘My mother does not like me to whistle,’ said Carrie, ‘but my father is ever teaching me new tunes, and Mr. Tillet, so I have to learn, but, if you please, I had rather look round the room, Phil; I want to look into that long mirror.’ So Carrie slipped down off the bed and walked (by irresistible feminine instinct drawn) towards the long French mirror, the like of which she had never seen before, and then she played for a few minutes with the Dresden china dishes on the dressing-table. ‘You take care with my father’s razors,’ warned Phil; ‘but they are not there—I forgot he wasn’t sleeping here. I have this room all to myself, and oh! it’s gloomy at night. You see that big wardrobe over there—well, I think all manner of things come out of it through the night. You see sometimes Peter sits with me, and sometimes nurse, but they both often go asleep, and then——’ Moved by this recital of nightly terrors, Carrie came back to the side of Phil’s bed and took another compassionate look at him. ‘I am so tired of lying here,’ he said crossly. ‘And you know, though my father makes a lot of me when I am well sometimes, he never comes near me now that I am ill—just when I would like him. My father is rather amusing sometimes, you know.’ ‘What would he amuse you with?’ asked Carrie. ‘Oh, he teaches me a number of things. He can swear beautifully. I have learnt some of that, but when I used one of his expressions the other day they all laughed at me; ’twas rather hard, I thought. My father said: “Bravely tried, Phil, but you scarce apply it rightly yet,” and they all laughed again. I shall not learn for him again in a hurry.’ Carrie was very sympathetic, and Phil continued— ‘Then I play sometimes with him—we have shilling points; ’tis good fun that, Carrie, but my father says just now I am too cross to play with.’ ‘Oh, let me play with you,’ Carrie cried, ‘I have learnt that too.’ Phil rolled over uneasily on his pillows. ‘Peter,’ he called, in a very lordly fashion,—‘Peter, bring a pack of cards.’ Peter obeyed with some reluctance. ‘See you ain’t a-hurtin’ of your hands, Master Phil,’ he said. ‘You let missie shuffle an’ deal, like a good young gen’l’man.’ ‘Oh, you be damned, Peter!’ said Phil hastily, and Peter disappeared into the other room, drawing up his shoulders to his ears in a very expressive fashion. ‘Now, you sit on the end of the bed, Carrie, and we’ll have a jolly time,’ said Phil, his ill-temper as quickly gone as it had come. Carrie scrambled up on to the stiff yellow satin coverlet, and dealt out the cards across it, while Phil obligingly flattened out his poor little burnt knees to form an even table. They were deep in their game, when Patty came to take Carrie home. Phil’s cheeks were pink with excitement, and he called out to Peter to go away and let them play on. But Peter, with great unconcern, swept together the cards that lay on the quilt and lifted Carrie to the ground.