"Bed's the best place, sir, for you," she said. "So just you lie quiet 'ere, sir, and Rose'll look after you. And if there's anything you fancy, sir, you tell Rose, and I'll make it you." There was nothing that he fancied but to lie still there and look at Rose when, in a spare hour, she sat by his window, sewing. Bad as he was, he was not so far gone as to be ever oblivious of her presence. Even at his worst, one night when he had had a touch of fever, he was aware of her wandering in and out of his room, hanging over him with a thermometer, and sitting by his bedside. When he flung the clothes off she was there to cover him; when his pillow grew hot she turned it; when he cried out with thirst she gave him a cool drink. In the morning she was pale and heavy-eyed; her hair was all unsleeked, and its round coils were flattened at the back. She had lain down on her bed, dressed, for five minutes at a time, but she had not closed her eyes or her ears all night. In a week he was well enough to enjoy being nursed. He was now exquisitely sensitive to the touch of her hands, and to the nearness of her breathing mouth as her face bent over him, tender, absorbed, and superlatively grave. What he liked best of all was to hold out his weak hands to be washed and dried by hers; that, and having his hair brushed. He could talk to her now without coughing. Thus-- "I say, what a bother I am to you." Rose had taken away the basin and towels, and was arranging his hair according to her own fancy. And Rose's fancy was to part it very much on one side, and brush it back in a curl off his forehead. It gave him a faint resemblance to Mr. Robinson, the elegant young draper in the High Street, whom she knew. "There's nothing I like so much," said she, "as tucking people up in bed and 'aving them lie there and nursing 'em. Give me anybody ill, and anybody 'elpless, and me lookin' after 'em, and I'm happy." "And the longer I lie here, Rose, the happier you'll be?" "Yes. But I want you to get well, too, sir." "Because you're so unselfish." "Oh no. There isn't anybody selfisher than me." "I suppose," said Tanqueray, "that's why I _don't_ get well." Rose had a whole afternoon to spare that day. She spent it turning out his drawers and finding all the things there were to mend there. She was sitting by his bed when, looking up from her mending, she saw his eyes fixed on her. "I don't irritate you, sittin' here, do I, sir?" "Irritate me? What do you think I'm made of?" Rose meditated for the fraction of a second. "Brains, sir," said she. "So you think you know a man of brains when you see him, do you?" "Yes, sir." "What were you, Rose, before you came here?" "I was nurse in a gentleman's family. I took care of the baby." "Did you like taking care of the baby?" "Yes." Rose blushed profoundly and turned away. He wondered why.