Lucy sat sobbing in the window-seat. If she had been older she would not have wept so freely: the young have so many tears to spare. 'There is nothing to regret,' he said tenderly, bending over the hand he still held. 'The dear Master has lived his life--a good life, and, I think, a happy one--and he will exchange it for a better and a happier. We have only to concern ourselves about those who are left--Mrs. Rae and your cousin. They must stay with us, Lucy; they must make the lodge their home. You must let them understand, dear'--here the Senior Tutor really pressed Lucy's hand, that he had held all the time he had been talking to her, and she had never once thought of drawing it away: he would have taken her in his arms, but the servants were coming up and down stairs--'you must let them quite understand,' he went on, 'that their home is here with us. I am sure we shall do everything to make them happy.' Lucy hadn't the least idea what he meant. She would have stayed at the lodge and taken her share of the nursing night and day, but the Tutor would not hear of it. 'You have got your work to do, my dear,' he said. He called her 'my dear' now quite naturally. 'You have all your work cut out before you to be ready for the examinations in June. You can't afford to risk breaking down for the sake of doing work that any woman can do. A trained nurse from Addenbroke's will do all, and more than all, you three dear anxious women together.' He sent in a nurse from Addenbroke's during the morning, and Cousin Mary and the Master's wife were turned out of the room. It was quite time the Master's wife was turned out of the room, or there would have been two to nurse instead of one. The nurse who had been sent from Addenbroke's Hospital to nurse the Master was the little fluffy nurse that had been brought by her brother to Wyatt Edgell's rooms after that miserable folly, and had kept his secret. If Lucy didn't like trusting a foolish young man she knew nothing about to this flighty nurse, she was much more unwilling to trust this valuable life in her hands. She watched with mistrust, and a certain dull glow of impatience, this little bit of a creature turn the Master's wife out of the room, and reverse everything that had been done under Cousin Mary's directions. The nurse from Addenbroke's pulled up the blinds and threw open the windows, and let in the balmy air of the sweet May morning, that everybody had been so anxious to keep out; and she threw off the heavy quilts, and took away the pillows, and did everything according to the latest fashion in nursing. If people do not choose to get well when all this is done for them, it is their own fault, and not the fault of the system. Before Lucy went back to Newnham she went into the little room--her own room till she had left it for Newnham--where the Master's wife had gone to lie down to rest. She had chosen this room because it was near the Master's, and she would be within call.