"Yes; it's his neck. I was advised to bring him here, because I'm only in lodgings. I'd like----" "Let me see!" Carew resumed his seat. His gaze hung on the doctor's movements; every detail twanged his nerves. A nurse was called in to take the temperature. He watched her with suspense, and smiled feebly at the child across her arm. "Diphtheritic throat. We'll put him to bed at once. Take him away, Nurse--put him into a special ward." "I should like----" said Carew huskily; "I know one of the nurses here. Might I see her?" "Yes, certainly. Which one?" "Her name is 'Brettan--Mary Brettan.'" He stooped to pat the tearful face, and missed Kincaid's surprise. "If I might see her now----?" "Ask if Nurse Brettan can come down, please! Say she is wanted in the waiting-room." A brief pause ensued. The closing of the door left them alone. The father's imagination pursued the figures that had disappeared; Kincaid's was busy with the fact of the man's being an acquaintance of Mary's--the only acquaintance that had crossed his path. Surprise suggested his opening remark: "You're a visitor here, you say? Your little son's sickness has come at an unfortunate time for you." "It has--yes, very. I'm at the theatre--and my apartments are none too good." He mentioned the address; the doctor made some formal inquiries. Carew asked how often he would be permitted to see the boy; and when this was arranged, silence fell again. It was broken in a few seconds. The sound of a footstep on the stairs was caught by them simultaneously. Simultaneously both men looked round. The footsteps were succeeded by the faint rustle of a skirt, and Nurse Brettan crossed the threshold. She started visibly--controlled herself, and acknowledged Carew's greeting by a slight bow. Kincaid, in a manner, presented him to her--courteously, constrainedly. "This gentleman has been waiting to see you. I'll wish you good-morning, sir." Mary moved to the window, and stood there without speaking. In the print and linen costume of the house she recalled with increased force to Carew the time when he had seen her first. "Archie has got diphtheria," he said; "he's just been taken upstairs." "I'm sorry," she said. "Why have you asked for me?" "They told me I couldn't keep him at home--that I must bring him here.... Mary, you will do what you can for him?" She raised her head calmly. "He is sure of careful nursing," she answered; "no patient is neglected." "I know. I know all that. I thought that you----" "I'm not in the children's ward," she said; "there isn't anything _I_ can do." He looked at her dumbly. Mere indifference his agitation would have found vent in combating, but the conclusiveness of the reply left him nothing to urge. "I must be satisfied without you, then," he said at last. "I thought of you directly." "He'll have every attention; you needn't doubt that." "Such a little chap--among strangers!" "We have very young children in the wards."