"Because——" said Jane-Anne; but at this moment Mrs. Dew appeared with a tray. She swept Edmund out of the room, plumped up the invalid’s pillows, got her into a bed-jacket, and then stood over her while, with the best will in the world, Jane-Anne did full justice to her dinner. "What a pretty room this is, Aunt Martha," she said when she had eaten the last spoonful of pudding. "What is it makes it so pretty?" "The things in it is all good," Mrs. Dew replied, "all old and good; not at all what’s suited to a servant’s bedroom, if you ask me. But they was here when I came, an’, of course, it isn’t for me to find fault. The other things has come, and I’ve got them arranged, but the carpet couldn’t be nailed down for fear of waking you. They look very different in a good-sized room to what they did in Jeune Street, I can tell you. I’m very pleased to see my own things what I’m used to. You shall have this room, Jane-Anne, while you’re here. I’ll move my clothes to-morrow and put yours in. If it isn’t Master Edmund again, and Master Montagu with ’im—I never knew such perseverin’ young varmints, an’ the times I’ve sent them away. One’d think you was some sort of a exhibition, that one would. Yes, sirs, you may come in, but you mustn’t stop long. One’d think as you’d never seen a sick person before, an’ me not had time so much as to wash her face before you was back again. What! Mr. Wycherly wants to come and see her after tea? Well, it’s a great honour, and very kind on his part after going yesterday and all." This time the interview was brief and unsatisfactory, for Mrs. Dew remained in the room and Montagu, in consequence, was absolutely dumb, while Jane-Anne was too nervous to do more than mumble negatives or affirmatives to the innumerable questions asked by the quite unembarrassed Edmund. After five minutes of it the boys departed of their own accord. Jane-Anne slept again from lunch till tea time, and after tea Mr. Wycherly came to see her. This time Mrs. Dew did not remain. She set a chair for him and left them. Jane-Anne was sitting up in bed, arrayed in a white dimity jacket of Mrs. Dew’s. This garment was voluminous and much too large for its wearer, so that Jane-Anne’s face and hair seemed to emerge from amidst a billowy sea of dimity. Her hair was still loose and streamed over the bed. Mrs. Dew had wanted to plait it up, but Jane-Anne said the thick plaits hurt her head when she lay down, so her aunt gave way. "You are looking better, my child," said Mr. Wycherly. "I am better, sir; I’m nearly well, I’m afraid." "Afraid! but surely you want to be well?" "I should if I was going to stay here," Jane-Anne said earnestly. "Sir, do you think you could stop me going back to the Bainbridge?" "Stop you," Mr. Wycherly repeated, much perplexed. "But I thought——"