Then the doctor entered, and, for all the world as if by preconcerted action, the ladies disappeared. Dr. Dancer was on friendly terms with the household, and, his age being thirty, he was neither too old nor too young to address Henry as Old Man. 'Hallo, old man,' he began, after staring hard at Henry. 'What's the matter with your forehead?' 'Forehead?' Henry repeated questioningly. 'Yes. Let's have a look.' The examination was thorough, and it ended with the thrusting of a thermometer into Henry's unwilling mouth. 'One hundred and two,' said the doctor, and, smiling faintly, he whispered something to Henry. 'You're joking,' Henry replied, aghast. 'No, I'm not. Of course it's not serious. But it means bed for a fortnight or so, and you must go immediately.' The ladies, who had obviously and shamelessly been doing that which they so strongly deprecated in Sarah, came back into the room. In half an hour Henry was in bed, and a kettle containing eucalyptus was steaming over a bright fire in the bedroom; and his mother was bent upon black-currant tea in the kitchen; and Aunt Annie was taking down from dictation, in her angular Italian hand, a letter which began: 'Dear Sir George,--I much regret to say'; and little Sarah was standing hooded and girt up, ready to fly upon errands of the highest importance at a second's notice. 'Sarah,' said Mrs. Knight solemnly, when Sarah had returned from the post and the doctor's, 'I am going to trust you. Your master has got the measles, but, of course, we don't want anyone to know, so you mustn't breathe a word.' 'No'm,' said Sarah. 'He never had them as a boy,' Mrs. Knight added proudly. 'Didn't he, mum?' said Sarah. The doctor, whose gift for seriousness was not marked, showed a tendency to see humour in the situation of Sir George's private secretary being down with measles. But he was soon compelled to perceive his mistake. By a united and tremendous effort Mrs. Knight and Aunt Annie made measles august. As for Sarah, she let slip the truth to the milkman. It came out by itself, as the spout of a teapot had once come off by itself in her hand. The accident policy appeared to provide for every emergency except measles. CHAPTER VIII CREATIVE The sick-room--all due solemnity and importance must be imported into the significance of that word--the sick-room became a shrine, served by two ageing priestesses and a naive acolyte. Everything was done to make Henry an invalid in the grand manner. His bed of agony became the pivot on which the household life flutteringly and soothingly revolved. No detail of delicate attention which the most ingenious assiduity could devise was omitted from the course of treatment. And if the chamber had been at the front instead of at the back, the Fulham Vestry would certainly have received an application for permission to lay down straw in the street.