“No. He never cries. I wouldn’t like him to. But you’re different. I don’t mind you. It’s company for when I do myself.” “Timothy, which of us do you like best--him or me?” A silence followed--and Marigold wondered why she should hear her own heart beating so in the stillness. At last he said: “I love you both. But I love him best, because he found me first--and he is strong and kind with me.” Then Marigold was silent, with a dull disappointment, because, unreasonably, she had hoped so much from this reply. “Yes,” she said at length, “he is strong and kind and good to you. And I am frivolous and giddy. But you like me second best, don’t you?” “Yes, second best. Mother I love different, you know.” “And even if Dr Quack doesn’t like me, you will still let me come, won’t you, Patches?” “Oh yes. But I think he does like you--at least, I think he doesn’t mind much, either way. He said this morning if you would only dress respectable and be tidy, you might make a very nice little nurse--seeing I’d taken a fancy to you. He told your aunt when she was in here and they were talking.” “Oh! and what did she say?” “She said she’d argued with you every way, but that you had never had any taste in dress. And that’s all they said about you.” “Would you like me for a nurse, Patches?” “Oh! I should love it.” “But if I’m the nurse, I’ll have to stay in when the doctor comes.” “I expect it will all depend on him,” said Patches. “Perhaps, if he once got used to you, he’d like you--especially if you only had another dress.” CHAPTER XV That night the patchwork dress was finished, and it was really very beautiful. It just cleared the ground very gracefully, and it was so plain that it showed every line of Marigold’s exquisite figure off to perfection. Alice laughed when she saw it on, and shook her head and said: “Well, I never!” and “On my word!”--but got no further. That night also the High Priest and St Armand sat after dinner, all alone once more, St Armand smoking. “Your dream was true enough, Alphonso,” said he presently. “You mean in connection with Barringcourt?” “Yes. He has certainly not altered in the least--or, if at all, much for the better.” “And I----” “Am older. When you stand together as this morning, the difference shows at once. I marvel that you never felt it.” “I did at first--when first he came to us. But afterwards, our conversation took me back to the days when I was young.” “In memory only, not reality. And to be young in memory is to be old in years. Youth lives in the present, not the past. To-night you look older than ever I remember seeing you. Do you think it wise, this friendship with so young, so well-preserved a man?” “Why not? If only to discover his great secret that brings redoubled youth when the first wear and tear of age begins to creep out from its sad resting-place.”