She saw that he was in a bate about himself, so after her tender beginnings, she became rough. She made him sit up while she shook his pillows, then she made him lie flat and tucked the sheet round him strenuously; she scolded him for leaving his clothes lying about on the floor. She felt as if her love for him was only just beginning--the last four months seemed cold and formal compared with these moments of warm, personal service. She brought him water for his hands, and scrubbed his face with a sponge to his intense discomfort. She was bawling downstairs to the unlucky Raddish to put the kettle on for some herb tea--since an intimate cross-examination revealed that he had not had the recommended dose--when the doctor arrived and came upstairs with Sir Harry. He undid a good deal of Joanna's good work--he ordered the blind to be let down again, and he refused to back her up in her injunctions to the patient to lie flat--on the contrary he sent for more pillows, and Martin had to confess to feeling easier when he was propped up against them with a rug round his shoulders. He then announced that he would send for a nurse from Rye. "Oh, but I can manage," cried Joanna--"let me nurse him. I can come and stop here, and nurse him day and night." "I am sure there is no one whom he'd rather have than you, Miss Godden," said Dr. Taylor gallantly, "but of course you are not professional, and pneumonia wants thoroughly experienced nursing--the nurse counts more than the doctor in a case like this." "Pneumonia! Is that what's the matter with him?" They had left Martin's room, and the three of them were standing in the hall. "I'm afraid that's it--only in the right lung so far." "But you can stop it--you won't let him get worse. Pneumonia!..."