"Oh, I say, Rose, you are a brick! Are you going to see her?" "Yes, of course." "Are you going to-day?" "I'll go, if I possibly can." "You must be very gentle with her, remember." "I'll do my best." "And for goodness' sake don't frighten her about me." "No." "You must make up some kind of excuse about me. You must on no account let out that I have caught this horrible thing. Do you understand, Rosamund, if Hetty finds this out it will kill her at once." "I'll do my very best for you, Jack. I won't do anything to injure Hetty. I don't know her, but I think I can promise that. Now, please, give me her address." "Twenty-four, Peacock Buildings, fourth story, care of Mrs Ashton. When you get to Putney, you turn down Dorset Street, and it's the fifth turning to the right. Can you remember?" "Yes, yes. Now lie still. I am going to send mother to you." When I reached the door, I turned and looked back. Jack was gazing wistfully after me, his eyes were full of tears. "Rose, you're a brick," said the poor fellow; and then he turned his face to the wall. I closed the door very softly and went down to the drawing-room where mother sat. I went up to her, and took the mending out of her thin, white hands, and bending down kissed her. "What is the matter, Rose, my dear?" she said. We were not a family for embraces, and she wondered at this mark of demonstration. When she raised her eyes to my face, she could not restrain a little cry, for with all my efforts I did not absolutely conceal the marks of strong emotion. "Mother," I said, "you must put away your mending for the present." "Why so, my dear? I am particularly anxious to get on with this invisible darning, for I wish to begin to refront Jack's shirts to-morrow." "The shirts must keep, mother. Jack wants you for something else just now--he is very ill." "Ill? Poor fellow, he did look as if he had a bad headache." "Yes, I think we ought to send for Mr Ray." "What! For the doctor? Because of a headache? Rose, dear, are you getting fanciful?" "I trust not, mother, but I really think Jack is ill, and I am afraid it is more than a headache that ails him." "What do you know about illness, child?" "Well, mother dear, go up yourself and see." My mother went softly out of the room. Her light footsteps ascended the creaking stairs. I heard her open Jack's bedroom door and shut it behind her. In about five minutes she had rejoined me in the drawing-room. "Rose, will you put on your hat, and go round to Mr Ray, and ask him to call at once." My mother now spoke as if the idea of fetching the doctor had originated with herself. "Jack is very ill, Rose," she said, looking at me, pathetically. "Yes, mother, I fear he is. Now, listen to me, please; if you are going to nurse him, you are not to be tired in any way; you are to have no anxieties down-stairs. When I go out, mother, I am going to fetch in Jane Fleming as well as Mr Ray."