A picture of the fastidious, affable Directress rose clearly before her and she saw what a contrast to little efficient "Tattie," as the girls called the sturdy little house-keeper behind her back, Miss Ardsley would make at a sick-bed. "I suppose I'll have to go straight down to the office," she said aloud, as she went out into the hall. "Oh, dear, I hope she isn't going to be ill." Constance Fellows was at her door, unseen by Patricia, and she caught the distressed words. As Patricia hurriedly started for the stair she called to her. "Is the fair Rosamond under the weather again?" she asked lightly. Patricia turned, indignant at her levity in the face of trouble. "Rosamond is in a stupor and I can't wake her up. I'm going for Miss Ardsley," she said shortly. Then Constance dropped her bantering tone and, closing her own door, came over to Patricia. "Let me see her before you call out the authorities," she said earnestly. "She may not be seriously ill, and if they once get hold of her they'll keep her in quarantine for weeks after she's all over it." Patricia remembered Rosamond saying something much to this effect, and she agreed eagerly. "I'll go in first and see if she's waked up," she said on the threshold of Rosamond's room. Rosamond was lying in the same position as she had been and was as unresponsive to efforts to rouse her as before. Patricia beckoned Constance into the room. "I'm afraid she's very ill," she whispered, as Constance came to the bedside, and she waited in great suspense for what should come next. Constance felt Rosamond's head and listened to her heart in quite a professional manner. Then she disappeared for a moment and came back with a thermometer and an alcohol bottle. "Get some hot water ready for me," she said in a business-like way that won Patricia's confidence. "I think it's an attack of the grippe, but I'm not sure yet." When Patricia came back with the steaming pitcher, she had finished her investigations. "It's grippe, all right," she said, contentedly. "I know the symptoms without being told a word. I've had it every year since it became the fashion, drat it! We'll have to get the doctor, of course, but I think she can be made more comfortable in the meanwhile." "Shall I tell Miss Ardsley before I phone to the doctor?" Patricia asked anxiously. Constance shook her head. "Tell her just as soon as you are sure he is on the way," she advised. "The Countess is a nuisance about illness. She is scared stiff for fear she'll catch it--whatever it may be. Of course, she has to know--necessary evil--but don't let her in on me till I've freshened up this poor girl." Patricia hurried off to telephone to Rosamond's doctor, whom she was fortunate enough to find in his office. And then she came back to the bedroom. Rosamond had her eyes open. Her face was flushed and miserable looking, but she was allowing Constance to arrange her pillows with something like gratitude in her long eyes.