"Oh, yes, they do. I have no complaint to make on that score. You recommended me here, and I must say that I’m most comfortable. But what worries me is my visit up North." "Don’t bother about that," laughed the other. "Get well first. Write and tell them you can’t come." "I wish you would do it for me. Pen and paper are over there," said the sick woman, whose eyes glistened strangely. "No; you must do it," replied Ena quickly. She had a reason. "If I were to write to them they might think it strange. You are not too ill to write. I’ll get you the pad." And, carrying it to her on the bed, she induced Mrs. Morrison to write two letters to her friends—letters which she duly posted when she got outside. "The doctor doesn’t seem to know what is the matter with me," the invalid said in a weak voice after she had laid down her fountain pen. "My head is so terribly bad—and my throat too." "What time is he coming again?" "To-night, I think. I hope so." "My dear, it’s only a chill," Ena said with comforting cheerfulness. "You’ll be all right in a day or two. You’ve been in a draught, perhaps." "Ah! but my head! It seems as though it must burst. At times I can’t think. All my senses seem blurred." "Did you tell the doctor that?" "Yes. And it seemed to puzzle him more than ever. I hope I’m not going to have a bad illness." "Of course not," laughed Ena. "You’ll be better in a day or so. Remain quiet, and I’ll run in to-morrow morning to see how you are. If you’re worse, tell them to ring me up. I’m just going round to the Davidsons. They will be most distressed to hear of your sudden illness." The widow of Carsphairn turned over on her pillow and moaned slightly. Her face was flushed, and it was evident to Ena that the last words she had uttered the sick woman had not understood. So she took her leave, and on descending the stairs to the wide hall, again encountered the proprietor’s wife. "My friend Mrs. Morrison seems very unwell," said Ena. "I can’t make it out at all. I do hope the doctor will discover what is the matter with her." "Doctor Tressider is my own doctor," replied the woman. "He’ll be here again before dinner time, and I hope he won’t find anything really very wrong." "Well, whatever he says, would you mind letting me know over the ’phone?" asked Ena, taking out her visiting-card, upon which was printed her telephone number. "Certainly I will," was the reply. "And if there is anything serious I’ll come round at once," she said. So they parted, and Ena hailed a taxi outside, and returned to Upper Brook Street well satisfied with her morning’s work. *CHAPTER XVIII* *THE COUP AND ITS CONSEQUENCE* Next day passed, but though Ena remained at home in a high state of anxiety, she received no message from Lancaster Gate. At eight o’clock she rang up, and spoke to the proprietress of the hotel.