She sat forward, her face alight with eagerness "Did you want a elephant and to go to Australia?" "I don’t know about the elephant. But I know I wanted to go to Australia, or anywhere else, so long as medicine bottles and beef-tea and thermometers didn’t grow there." She hesitated, her eyes never leaving his face. "But—but did you—did you say things—" He smiled. "Yes, I said things, Sheila Pat!" "Awful things? Things you’d never, _never_ say when you were well?" "I hope I shouldn’t!" A tired little frown creased her forehead. "Did you—did you _ask_ for things?" "Oh, yes, heaps of ’em! I nearly wept because they wouldn’t give me my organ into bed with me. And foot-balls—I was always begging for foot-balls. And one night I insisted on its being imperative that I should start off for Paris—" Eagerly she interrupted, "Did you worry and _worry_?" "They had to hold me down." She lay back in the pillows; she gave a little excited laugh. "Aren’t persons _queer_ when they’re ’lirious?" "Sheila Pat, catch hold!" He tilted a brown-paper parcel into her lap. "It’s a book about horses, and there’re plenty of photographs in it, so will you forgive its not being Irish? And remember that I hate being thanked, Sheila Pat. If you thank me for it, I’ll kiss you. So now you know." She was turning the pages with trembling fingers. He watched the expressive face as she bent over the beautiful photographs. "Nell," Denis poked his head round the door, "may that conceited Atom receive another visitor? Mr. Yovil wants to see her." "Yes, with great pleasure!" shrilled out Sheila Pat, excitedly. She turned to Ted; she lifted up her face. "I love it! I _love_ it!" "You’re thanking me!" He bent and kissed her. "I’m jealous," Mark Yovil said sadly, as he entered the room. "He isn’t half so nice as I am, Sheila Pat! You ask my mother. She’s down in Devonshire, but we could send her a wire. And you’ve never been his Social Prompter, have you? Please send him away, Sheila Pat!" "I will, anyway," Nell laughed. Mark Yovil only stayed a few minutes. He looked at the Atom’s excited face, her bright eyes, and talked quietly to Nell. Then he went. For a quarter of an hour Sheila Pat studied her precious book. Then Sarah appeared with a petition from Herr Schmidt for just a "beep at the little Miss Sheila." He came in, laboriously tiptoeing, beaming. "Ze poor little invalid! You are better, hein?" Sheila Pat was very tired. "I’m quite well, thank you," she responded, her manner exceedingly grown-up. "There’s only one thing about her that troubles us, Herr Schmidt," laughed Nell. "She’s so good! She takes her medicine without a grimace! She’s so meek and good I’m quite uneasy." Sheila Pat fidgeted restlessly. She explained earnestly. "I’m not _really_ good! I’m doin’ it for—for a reason of my own." Herr Schmidt seemed to think that exquisitely funny. He chuckled like a great fat baby.