"A sick-room, indeed! You talk as if I were going to be laid up for a month," said Kelvin, impatiently. "I talk simple common sense, Matthew," said Olive. "Besides, Lady Dudgeon promised me a holiday a month ago, and I don't see why I should not take it now. In fact, I may tell you that I have already written to her ladyship telling her not to expect me back for three or four days." "Cool, I must say. Not but what you are welcome to stay here as long as you like: cela va sans dire; and I am greatly obliged to you for what you have done for me already. But as for spending your holiday in waiting on me--that's pure nonsense. A week at the seaside, now, is what you ought to have." "Which to me would mean a week in a strange place among people whom I never saw before and should never see again. I would sooner hear Sophy and Carry their lessons from year's end to year's end than indulge in such a holiday as that." "I shall be better to-morrow, you mark my words if I'm not, and then we'll have a little further talk about your holiday." But he was by no means better next morning; rather worse, indeed, if anything. It was nothing, Dr. Druce said. The medicine sent by him had, perhaps, had the effect of increasing the sickness, but the patient himself was no worse than on the preceding day. A little time and a little patience were needed. It was not to be expected that an evil which had been growing for months, perhaps even for year, could be put right in a day or two. Kelvin said nothing to Olive that day about going back to Stammars. He was very ill indeed, and he could not help admitting to himself that it was a great comfort to have Olive to wait upon him. His mother, at the best of times, would not have been of much use in a sick-room, seeing that it was a matter of difficulty for her to walk across the floor, and the very fact of Matthew being so ill only tended to make her worse than usual. As for a hired nurse, Kelvin shuddered at the thought. But such a nurse as Olive made all the difference. "You might have been born to this sort of thing, from the way you go, about it," he said to her. "You forget that for many years my father kept a chemist's shop in a poor neighbourhood," she replied, "and that I seem to have been familiar with sickness and disease since I can remember anything." "You are a clever girl, Olive, and I believe you could doctor me a deuced sight better than old Druce. I remember when I was a lad hearing your father say that you knew almost as much about his drugs and messes as he did himself." Olive's back was towards him as he spoke, and she did not answer for a moment or two. "That is a long time ago," she said, in a low voice; "and such knowledge as that is easily forgotten. Then, again, you remember how poor papa always would exaggerate a little."