"It's all nonsense about Mr. Garratt--" He stopped, for the breakfast was brought in. "Look here; I'd better pour out the coffee," he said; and when he had done so, and given her some toast and buttered a scone and helped himself to kidneys and bacon, he felt distinctly better. "Now, then," he said; "it's all nonsense about Mr. Garratt, and she and I are going to get married--soon as possible." "No, no, Tom, dear, it's not nonsense," Lena said, with one of her usual wriggles. "She told me all about him, and I saw them meet in the wood, you know." But he refused even to discuss it. "That's all nonsense," he repeated, firmly. "What's the matter with Mrs. Lakeman?" "It's only neuralgia," Lena said; "you know she has a bad, black day now and then. You don't mind being with me, Tom, dear? We always like being together?" She was beginning to feel that she couldn't hold him; that she had attempted more than she could carry out. She almost wished she had left him to Margaret; her power over him seemed gone, and she was handicapped by her mother's absence. With a puzzled air he ate his breakfast. "What have you done to yourself?" he asked, when he had finished; "have you caught a cold, or overtired yourself, or just given in and taken to a sofa for no particular reason?" "I'm not strong," she said, looking up at him; "and I felt as if I couldn't bear the waiting. We expected you every day; why didn't you come?" "I was with Margaret," he answered, at which Lena turned and buried her face in the cushions and sobbed softly to herself. "Oh, but I say, what is the matter?" he asked, in dismay; "there's something behind all this; tell me what it means." "It means that I am going to die," she said. "I must die, I can't live." She held out her hands to him again, and almost against his will he felt himself going towards her till he had taken them in his. "I want you, dear," she said, and twined her arms round his neck. "I can't let you go to little Margaret. She has Mr. Garratt, remember, and I shall only live a little while. You must stay with me till I die--you will, won't you?" "This is all nonsense," he said again; and in a kindly, affectionate manner, as a brother might have done, he gave her a kiss for the simple reason that he didn't know what else to do. "You are ill and played out." "Yes, I'm ill," she said, and wriggled more completely into his arms. He sincerely wished she wouldn't, but he held her for a few minutes rather awkwardly and then laid her back on the sofa. "Look here," he said, "I should like to go and unpack and all that, and you ought to rest for a bit."