But he lived; he spoke; he opened his dark eyes and smiled upon us; he demanded a battered "boy stout" doll, and hugged it to his pneumonia jacket; he drank his milk, and said "More!" he grew cross and fractious--oh, welcome, gladdening sign!--and said, "Doe away! No more daddies! No more nursies! Don't want nobodies! Boo-hoo-hoo!" and we went and wept for gladness. Illness, the really critical touch-and-go illness which nurses call "a good case," turns a home into an isolation camp. The outer world retreats to an immeasurable distance, and the watchers stare out of the windows, and behold with stupefaction hard-hearted men and women walking abroad on two legs, with hats on their heads, and umbrellas in their hands, talking and laughing and pursuing their petty avocations, not in the least affected by the fact that the temperature had again soared up to 104, and the doctor spoke gravely about heart strain. It seems inconceivable that human creatures, living a few yards away, are actually going to parties, and attending theatres, trying on new clothes, and worrying about cracked cups. It was with much the same shock of incredulity that, on descending to my flat one afternoon, I was met with the news that a gentleman was in the drawing-room waiting to see me. Bridget was out walking with the little girls, and the orphan, as usual, had opened the door. I demanded to be told "all about it," upon which she inhaled a deep breath, and set forth her tale after the manner of a witness in the police court. "He says to me, `Is Miss Harding at home?' I says, `Yes, sir, she's at home, but she's out at the moment nursing a little boy upstairs'. He says to me, `Is Miss Evelyn Wastneys at home?' I says, `She don't live here, sir. There has some letters come--' He says, `When will Miss Harding be in?' I says, `She generally gives us a look, as it might be, about six, before the young ladies settles to bed'. `Then I'll wait!' he says, takes off his hat, and walked in. I said, `What name shall I say, please?' He said, `It doesn't matter about my name. She doesn't know it.'" I stood silent, digesting the news. "What sort of a gentleman is he? What does he look like?" The orphan considered, silently chewing the cud. "He looks," she opined deliberately, "as if he could give you _what for_!" At that, without one second's pause, I scuttled into my own room and locked the door behind me. (I would have "locked and double locked" it, as heroines of fiction do on such occasions, but it has always remained a mystery to me how they manage to do it!) That being done I fell into a chair, and breathlessly confronted--the worst!