Soon afterwards he gave a few very faint, short, dry coughs--scarcely perceptible efforts to clear the throat. And at the same Lilian went cold. She knew that cough. She had helped to nurse her father. It was the affrighting pneumonia cough. Almost simultaneously it occurred to her that Felix was trying to hide from her a difficulty in breathing. She had not dreamed of anything so bad as pneumonia, which for her was the direst of all diseases. And she with a plan for dyeing her skin to amuse and excite him! ... She had thought of a severe chill at the worst. She hurried downstairs to see the concierge. The lift was too slow in coming up for her; she had to run down the flights of carpeted steps one after another. The main question on her mind was: "Ought I to telegraph to his sister?" If Miss Grig arrived, what would, what could happen to herself? The concierge--a dark, haughty, long-moustached, somewhat consumptive subject--adored Lilian for her beauty, and she had rewarded his worship with exquisite smiles and tones. "Would you like the English doctor, madam?" said he. "_Is_ there an English doctor here?" She was immensely relieved. She would be able to talk to an English doctor, whereas a French doctor with his shrugs and science, and understanding nothing you said.... "Surely, madam! I will telephone at once, madam. He shall be here in one quarter hour. I know where he is. He is a very good doctor." "Oh, thank you!" Concierges were marvellous persons. As soon as she had gone again the concierge made all the pages tremble. It was the thwarted desire to kneel at Lilian’s feet and kiss her divine shoes that caused him to terrorize the pages. As for telegraphing to Miss Grig, she decided that obviously she could send no message till the doctor had examined and reported. In regard to the hotel authorities and servants she now had no shame. She alone was responsible for Felix’s welfare, and she would be responsible, and they must all think what they liked about her relations with him. She did not care. The concierge was indeed marvellous, for in less than twenty minutes there was a knock at Felix’s door. Lilian opened, saw a professional face with hair half sandy, half grey, and, turning to Felix, murmured: "It’s the doctor, darling." Felix, to whom she had audaciously said not a word about sending for a doctor, actually sat up, furious. "I’m not going to see a doctor," he gasped. "I’m not going to see any doctor." "Come in, doctor, please." The moment was dramatic. Felix of course was beaten. "You’ll find me in the next room, doctor," she said, after a minute, and the doctor bowed. In another ten minutes the doctor entered her bedroom. "It’s a mild attack of pneumonia," said he, standing in front of her. "Very mild. I can see no cause for anxiety. You’d better have a nurse for the night." "I would sooner sit up myself," Lilian answered. "I’ve nursed pneumonia before."