I was back again in bed, very drowsy and comfortable, wondering how I had got there, what had happened, what time it was. I took a drink of lemonade and thought what a bad night I was having. I remembered my dream; it had been very vivid, and I was sorry for Gabriel Stanton and tried to remember what had become of him, when I had heard of or seen him last; it must have been a long time ago. Margaret was a minx. If ever I wrote about them it would be to tell the truth, to analyse and expose the spirit and soul of a woman flirt. And again when I lay down I thought of what the critics would say of this fine and intimate study, this human document that I was to give the world. Phrases came to me, vivid lightning touches ... I hoped I should be able to remember them, but hardly doubted it, for others came, even better than these, and then in consequence, sleep.... * * * * * Benham said in the morning: “Whatever did you take another pill for? Was anything the matter with you? You could have called me up.” “But you might have argued with me.” “I am sure I don’t know what good a nurse is to you at all!” “You would be invaluable if you would only get it into your head that I am not a mental case. Don’t you realise that I am a very clever woman, quite as clever as you?” “I don’t call it clever to retard your own recovery.” “Am I going to recover?” I asked quickly. “Your beloved Dr. Kennedy says you are.” “By the way, is he coming today?” “It isn’t many days he misses.” “He comes to protect me from you, to see I have some few privileges and ameliorations of my condition, that my confinement is not too close, my gaoler too vigilant.” We understood each other better now, and I could chaff her without provoking anything but a difficult smile. I, of course, was a bad patient. I found it difficult to believe that I ought not to try and overcome my weakness and inertia, that it was my duty to leave off fighting and sink into invalidism as if it were a feather bed.