"I am not fretting." "Not? What then? You look--" "Furious! I'm furious. I have been cheated. It's not fair." "Oh, my dear! Don't talk like that. These things happen, you know. You're not the first. We all have our troubles, and you are pulling round so nicely. There was a time when we feared for you, too. You must be thankful that your life was spared for your poor husband's sake. It's been most trying for him, with your weakness, and the funeral, and all. Come now, have a little cry. It will do you good. Then you shall have some tea." Jean glared at her again--glared with an intensity that was almost hatred. "You are a foolish woman," she said coldly. "You have no right to be a nurse. Go away!" Nurse Emma bit her lip and went back to her seat by the fire. Really! But it was her duty to ignore the outbursts of irritable patients, and preserve an unruffled calm, and she honestly strove to live up to her creed. Half an hour later she renewed her offer of tea. When her second and third attempt alike failed to produce any response, she determined once more to summon the husband to second her efforts. Outside the bedroom door was a small square landing, the sort of landing, unworthy the name of hall, which one finds in most small, middle-class houses. The gas was not yet lighted, and it had a dreary, depressing air. Before the window, gazing blankly into the street, stood Robert Gloucester, every line of his body eloquent of fatigue and depression. Nurse Emma looked at him sympathetically; but her first thought was for her patient. "I think you had better go to Mrs Gloucester, sir. I can't get her to eat. The food is ready on the table. Perhaps she will take it for you." Robert passed her without a word, shutting the door behind him. Jean stared at him across the room. "Darling! Nurse is distressed that you won't eat. She has sent me to persuade you." "She is a stupid woman--stupid and heartless. She has no right to be a nurse." "Don't say that, dear. She has nursed you well--been most devoted. For three nights she has not had off her clothes." Jean's upper lip curled in scorn. A strong, self-contained woman, who had lost three nights' rest in performance of her paid duty. Three nights! For how many weary months had she herself missed her sleep, dreading the night, dreading the day, travelling wearily nearer and nearer a martyrdom of pain, and now--nothing! Hungry arms, hungry heart, incredible disappointment! She pushed aside the offered cup with impatient hand. "I don't want it. It would choke me." "But you are so weak; you will be worse again. For my sake, sweetheart!"