"Then have a nurse for the day," the doctor suggested. "I can get an English one from the Alexandra Hospital--a very good one. She might come in at once and stay till ten o’clock, say." Then he proceeded to the treatment, prescriptions, and so on.... An English nurse! Lilian felt extraordinarily grateful and reassured. She knew where she was now. She was in England again. "Ought I to telegraph home?" she asked. "I shouldn’t if I were you," the doctor replied. "Better to wait for a day or two. Telegrams are so disturbing, aren’t they?" His gentle manner was inexpressibly soothing. It was so soothing that just as he was leaving she kept him back with a gesture. "Doctor, before you go, I wish you would do something for me." And she sat down, her face positively burning and shed tears. In the night, as she sat with Felix, the patient’s condition unquestionably improved. He even grew cheerful and laudatory. "You’re a great girl," he muttered weakly but firmly. "I know I was most absurdly cross, but I’m a rotten invalid." She looked at him steadily, and, her secret resolve enfeebled by his surprising and ravishing appreciation, she let forth, against the dictates of discretion, the terrific fact which was overwhelming her and causing every fibre in her to creep. "It’s true what I told you." "What?" "You know----" (A pause.) "How do you know it’s true?" "The doctor----" His reception of the tidings falsified every expectation. He waited a moment, and then said calmly: "That’s all right. I’ll see to that." She did not kiss him, but, sitting on the bed, put her head beside his on the pillow. Seen close, his eyelashes appeared as big as horsehairs and transcendently masculine. She tasted the full, deep savour of life then, moveless, in an awkward posture, in the midst of the huge sleeping hotel. She had no regrets, no past, only a future. VIII Marriage Lilian went to bed in the morning, not only with the assurance that Felix was in no danger, but with his words echoing in her heart: "We shall get married--here--the moment I’m fit." She was nursing his body; he was nursing her mind. He had realized at once, of course, that the situation was completely altered, and that he had now one sole duty--his duty towards her. And, moreover, he had cared for her pride--had not used the least word or even inflection to indicate that she was absolutely dependent on his good nature. The very basis of his attitude towards her was that he and she were indivisible in the matter. She rose about two o’clock, and she had scarcely got out of bed when the Irish nurse, Kate O’Connor, tapped at her door, and having received permission to enter, came in with a conspiratorial air.