'Oh, Rex, this is very wrong,' taking hold of one of his hot hands, and trying to lead him back to the sofa, 'when you know you cannot stand, and that the least movement makes you cough. Put your hand on my shoulder; lean on me. Oh, I wish I were as strong and tall as Aunt Milly.' 'I like you best as you are,' he replied, but he did not refuse the support she offered him. 'I could not see you over there, only the outline of your dress. You never wear your pretty dresses now, Polly?' reproachfully. 'I suppose because Heriot is not here.' 'Indeed--indeed--you must not stand any longer, Rex. You must lie down at once, or I shall tell Aunt Milly,' she returned, evasively. He was always making these sort of speeches to her, and to-night she felt as though she could not bear them; but Roy was not to be silenced. Never once had she mentioned Dr. Heriot's name to him, and with an odd tenacity he wanted to make her say it. What did she call him? had she learnt to say his Christian name? would she pronounce it with a blush, faltering over it as girls do? or would she speak it glibly as with long usage? 'I suppose you keep them all for him,' he continued, with a suspicion of bitterness in his tone; 'that little nun-like gray dress is good enough for Aunt Milly and me. Too much colour would be bad for weak eyes, eh, Polly?' 'I dress for him, of course,' trying to defend herself with dignity; but the next moment she waxed humble again. 'I--I am sorry you do not like the dress, Rex,' she faltered. 'I should like to please you both if I could,' and her eyes filled with tears. 'I think you might sing sometimes to please me when he is not here,' he returned, obstinately; 'just one song, Polly; my favourite one, with that sad, sweet refrain.' 'Oh, not that one,' she repeated, beginning to tremble; 'choose something else, Rex--not that.' 'No, I will have that or none,' he replied, irritably. What had become of Roy's sweet temper? 'You seem determined not to please me in anything,' and he moved away. Polly watched his tottering steps a moment, and then she sprang after him. 'Oh, Rex, do not be so cross with me; do not refuse my help,' she said, winding her arm round him, and compelling him to lean on her. 'There, you have done yourself mischief,' as he paused, overcome by a paroxysm of coughing. 'How can you--how can you be so unkind to me, Rex?' He did not answer; perhaps, absorbed in his own trouble, he hardly knew how he tried her; but as he sank back feebly on the cushions, he whispered-- 'You will sing it, Polly, will you not?' 'Yes, yes; anything, if you will only not be angry with me,' returned the poor girl, as she hurried away. The air was a mournful one, just suited to the words:-- 'Ask me no more: what answer should I give? I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; Ask me no more.'