She went leisurely on. When she had made the rounds of the top floor and had descended to the office and entered a few items in her day-book and given directions for linen and had a conference with the cook, she turned toward Suite A. She knocked on the outer door, and bent her head a little to listen--and as she listened she had a sudden sense of the room on the other side of the door--she saw it lying in the darkness, and she heard the rooster's clear, shrill call through the window, and saw the straight form on the bed. It all came before her and vanished as she put her hand on the door and knocked. "Come in!" The voice was sharp and a little imperious. Aunt Jane opened the door. A burst of light and color greeted her. The shades were rolled to the tops of the windows. And there were flowers everywhere.... Roses on the table, a great bunch of carnations on the desk, violets on the stand at the head of Herman Medfield's bed, foxgloves and snapdragons filling the window-sill and spilling over into the room. It was a riot of color; and in the midst of it, propped on his pillows on the high white bed, the millionaire looked out with a scowl. He wore an embroidered Chinese shoulder coat of blue and gold; and his hair, carefully combed, stood up a little on his forehead. The Vandyke beard was clipped to a point. "You look pretty as a picture," said Aunt Jane cheerfully. The scowl deepened a little--then it broke. "Will you sit down?" said Medfield politely. Aunt Jane drew up a chair. He watched her descend into it and his brow cleared. "I have been wanting to see you." Aunt Jane nodded. "I've been meaning to come. There's a good many things to do in a hospital." The chair adjusted itself--"Was it anything in particular you wanted to ask me about?" The millionaire's eyes had been resting on the quiet face. They turned away, a little startled. "Why--um--yes! I was thinking--I was thinking--" His eyes fell on the roses and he swept a hand toward them. "These flowers--all of them!" he said. Aunt Jane turned a little in her chair and beamed. "They look nice, don't they?" "They're well enough," said Medfield grudgingly. Then--with petulance: "I'm tired of them. I want them taken away--all of them!" "Sick folks get notions," said Aunt Jane placidly. "Where shall I take 'em to?" "Why, take them--" He looked about impatiently. "Take them where you usually take flowers!" "We generally take them to the folks they're sent to." She leaned forward to the violets and touched them with cool, gentle fingers, looking at them kindly. "There's something about violets makes me think of home places," she said. "Would you like them?" said Herman Medfield. He was watching the cool, firm fingers with a quiet look--almost a pleasant look. "Me?--Mercy, no!" The fingers withdrew to her lap. "You couldn't _send_ 'em to me. I'm here."