The doctor came round late that night to see how he was. He had left his other patient fairly comfortable, though the injury to the ribs was serious. The Ferrises were being very kind and hospitable. They were only too anxious to do all they could, since they blamed themselves for the accident--Percy because he had not sufficiently considered the danger of the place; Joey because she had, as she herself expressed it, "got larking." Now no trouble was too great for her to take. A nurse was already installed, and there was no doubt that Gerald would have every possible care and attention. Dr. Dymock was well satisfied with Gaunt's condition. He said that a long night's rest would restore him to his usual state, except for the fact that he must go carefully for a few days. He advised him not to get up until about eleven the following day--an order deeply resented by the master of Omberleigh, who could not remember to have breakfasted in bed in his life, except when his leg was broken. It was, however, consoling to be told that he would suffer no permanent effects at all from his awful adventure. If one has to live, one would rather live whole than maimed. He felt much himself when he descended the stairs next day, and went, as Virginia had begged that he would, to her own sitting-room. She was not there when he made his appearance. He had a few minutes in which to realise how her presence and her touch permeated the place and made it hers. She came running along the terrace very soon, her hands full of spiky dahlias, orange, scarlet, yellow and copper coloured. Entering through the window, she gave him a cheery greeting, pulling off her gardening gloves and apron and laying down her flowers on a table. He sat watching her with a curious intentness, feeling as if the handling of the situation were with her, waiting for some cue as to the attitude he was expected to adopt. It was not for two or three minutes that he realised that she was in precisely his own case. Her nervousness was very palpable. She coloured finely when for a moment she met his eyes, and went eagerly to ring the bell for the soup and wine which she had ordered for him. It came, almost before he had had time to object. When it was set before him, he did succeed, however, in voicing a protest. How could he be expected to eat like this, at odd hours? "I've had breakfast," he urged. "But you must get up your strength," she told him, with serious solicitude. "Dr. Dymock told me to be sure that you did; and you have had nothing solid since yesterday. Do try and eat it." As he still hesitated, she sat down beside him, and took the cup of soup in her hands, proffering it. "There was once a man," she said gravely, "and his wife couldn't eat any breakfast. So he stood over her with threats until she did." He winced, and bit his lip. "Don't joke about it"--hurriedly. "Why not?" she asked, deliberately provocative. "It _is_ a joke now, since it has ceased to hurt me."