ll she was settled with her little glass and her biscuit.
Then he was satisfied.

'You have heard the plan,' he said with some excitement, 'for a studio
for Winifred, over the stables?'

'No!' exclaimed Gudrun, in mock wonder.

'Oh!--I thought Winnie wrote it to you, in her letter!'

'Oh--yes--of course. But I thought perhaps it was only her own little
idea--' Gudrun smiled subtly, indulgently. The sick man smiled also,
elated.

'Oh no. It is a real project. There is a good room under the roof of
the stables--with sloping rafters. We had thought of converting it into
a studio.'

'How VERY nice that would be!' cried Gudrun, with excited warmth. The
thought of the rafters stirred her.

'You think it would? Well, it can be done.'

'But how perfectly splendid for Winifred! Of course, it is just what is
needed, if she is to work at all seriously. One must have one's
workshop, otherwise one never ceases to be an amateur.'

'Is that so? Yes. Of course, I should like you to share it with
Winifred.'

'Thank you SO much.'

Gudrun knew all these things already, but she must look shy and very
grateful, as if overcome.

'Of course, what I should like best, would be if you could give up your
work at the Grammar School, and just avail yourself of the studio, and
work there--well, as much or as little as you liked--'

He looked at Gudrun with dark, vacant eyes. She looked back at him as
if full of gratitude. These phrases of a dying man were so complete and
natural, coming like echoes through his dead mouth.

'And as to your earnings--you don't mind taking from me what you have
taken from the Education Committee, do you? I don't want you to be a
loser.'

'Oh,' said Gudrun, 'if I can have the studio and work there, I can earn
money enough, really I can.'

'Well,' he said, pleased to be the benefactor, 'we can see about all
that. You wouldn't mind spending your days here?'

'If there were a studio to work in,' said Gudrun, 'I could ask for
nothing better.'

'Is that so?'

He was really very pleased. But already he was getting tired. She could
see the grey, awful semi-consciousness of mere pain and dissolution
coming over him again, the torture coming into the vacancy of his
darkened eyes. It was not over yet, this process of death. She rose
softly saying:

'Perhaps you will sleep. I must look for Winifred.'

She went out, telling the nurse that she had left him. Day by day the
tissue of the sick man was furt