"I had a bad dream last night," said Tanqueray. "I dreamt that your aunt got into this room and couldn't get out again. I'm afraid of your aunt." "I dare say, sir. Aunt is so very 'uge." Rose dropped her g's and, when deeply moved, her aitches; but he did not mind. If it had to be done, it couldn't be done more prettily. "Rose, do you know when I'm delirious and when I'm not?" "Yes, sir. You see, I take your temperature." "It must be up now to a hundred and eighty. You mustn't be alarmed at anything I say. I'm not responsible." "No, sir." She rose and gravely took his temperature. "Aren't you afraid of my biting the bulb off, and the quicksilver flying down my throat, and running about inside me for ever and ever?" "No, sir." "You don't seem to be afraid of anything." "I'm not afraid of many things, and I would never be afraid of you, sir." "Not if I went mad, Rose? Raving?" "No. Not if you went mad. Not if you was to strike me, I wouldn't." She paused. "Not so long as I knew you was really mad, and didn't mean to hurt me." "I wouldn't hurt you for the world." He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. That evening, when she was giving him his medicine, he noticed that her eyelids were red and her eyes gleaming. "You've been crying. What's made you cry?" Rose did not answer. "What is it?" "Miss Kentish keeps on callin' and callin' me. And she scolds me something awful when I don't come." "Give my compliments to Miss Kentish, Rose, and tell her she's a beast." "I _'ave_ told her that if it was she that was ill I'd nurse her just the same and be glad to do it." "You consider that equivalent to calling her a beast, do you?" Rose said, "Well----" It was a little word she used frequently. "Well, I'm sorry you think I'm a beast." Rose's face had a scared look. She could not follow him, and that frightened her. It is always terrifying to be left behind. So he spared her. "Why would you be glad to nurse Miss Kentish?" "Because," said Rose, "I like taking care of people." "Do you like taking care of me?" Rose was silent again. She turned suddenly away. It was the second time she had done this, and again he wondered why. By the eighth day Tanqueray was strong enough to wash his own hands and brush his own hair. On the ninth the doctor and Rose agreed that he might sit up for an hour or two in his chair by the window. On the eleventh he came down-stairs for dinner. On the thirteenth Rose had nothing more to do for him but to bring him his meals and give him his medicine, which he would otherwise have forgotten. At bed-time, therefore, he had two sovereigns ready for her in an envelope. Rose refused obstinately to take them; to have anything to do with sovereigns. "No, sir, I couldn't," she reiterated. But when he pressed them on her she began to cry. And that left him wondering more. IV