“Get ice. Call Benham; ring up the doctor.” This was my first hæmorrhage, very profuse and alarming, and Lakeby although she was inferior was not inefficient. When she was really roused she carried out my instructions to the letter. Once Benham was in the room I knew at least I was in good hands. I begged them not to rouse the house more than necessary, not to call Ella. “Don’t you speak a word. Lie quite still. We know exactly what is to be done. Mrs. Lovegrove won’t be disturbed, nor anybody if you will only do what you are told.” Benham’s voice changed in an emergency; it was always a beautiful voice if a little hard; now it was gentle, soft, and her whole manner altered. She had me and the situation completely under her control, and that, of course, was what she always wanted. That night she was the perfect nurse. Lakeby obeyed her as if she had been a probationer. I often wonder I am not more grateful to Benham, failed to become quickly attached to her. I don’t think perhaps that mine is a grateful nature, but I surely recognised already tonight, in this bad hour, her complete and wonderful competence. I was in high fever, very agitated, yet striving to keep command of my nerves. “It looks bad, you know, but it is not really serious, it is only a symptom, not a disease. All you have to do is to keep very quiet. The doctor will soon be here.” “I’m not frightened.” “Hush! I’m sure you are not.” A hot bottle to my feet, little lumps of ice to suck; loose warm covering adjusted round me quickly, the blinds pulled up, and the window opened, there was nothing of which she did not think. And the little she said was all in the right key, not making light of my trouble, but explaining, minimizing it, helping me to calm my disordered nerves. “I would give you a morphia injection only that Dr. Kennedy will be here any moment now.” I don’t think it could have been long after that before he was in the room. In the meantime I was hating the sight of my own blood and kept begging the nurses or signing to them to remove basins and stained clothes. Nurse Benham told him very quietly what had happened. He was looking at me and said encouragingly: “You will soon be all right.” I was still coughing up blood and did not feel reassured. I heard him ask for hot water. Nurse and he were at the chest of drawers, whispering over something that might be cooking operations. Then nurse came back to the bed. “Dr. Kennedy is going to give you a morphia injection that will stop the hæmorrhage at once.” She rolled up the sleeve of my nightgown, and I saw he was beside her. “How much?” I got out. “A quarter of a grain,” he answered quietly. “You’ll find it will be quite enough. If not, you can have another.”