child, they had made her lie flat on her back from
twelve to one every day. Betty was aghast at finding her there asleep
in the morning. Gyp's face was so like the child-face she had seen
lying there in the old days, that she bundled out of the room and cried
bitterly into the cup of tea. It did her good. Going back with the tea,
she scolded her "pretty" for sleeping out there, with the fire out, too!

But Gyp only said:

"Betty, darling, the tea's awfully cold! Please get me some more!"

X

From the day of the nurse's arrival, Winton gave up hunting. He could
not bring himself to be out of doors for more than half an hour at a
time. Distrust of doctors did not prevent him having ten minutes
every morning with the old practitioner who had treated Gyp for mumps,
measles, and the other blessings of childhood. The old fellow--his name
was Rivershaw--was a most peculiar survival. He smelled of mackintosh,
had round purplish cheeks, a rim of hair which people said he dyed, and
bulging grey eyes slightly bloodshot. He was short in body and wind,
drank port wine, was suspected of taking snuff, read The Times, spoke
always in a husky voice, and used a very small brougham with a very old
black horse. But he had a certain low cunning, which had defeated many
ailments, and his reputation for assisting people into the world stood
extremely high. Every morning punctually at twelve, the crunch of his
little brougham's wheels would be heard. Winton would get up, and,
taking a deep breath, cross the hall to the dining-room, extract from
a sideboard a decanter of port, a biscuit-canister, and one glass. He
would then stand with his eyes fixed on the door, till, in due time, the
doctor would appear, and he could say:

"Well, doctor? How is she?"

"Nicely; quite nicely."

"Nothing to make one anxious?"

The doctor, puffing out his cheeks, with eyes straying to the decanter,
would murmur:

"Cardiac condition, capital--a little--um--not to matter. Taking its
course. These things!"

And Winton, with another deep breath, would say:

"Glass of port, doctor?"

An expression of surprise would pass over the doctor's face.

"Cold day--ah, perhaps--" And he would blow his nose on his
purple-and-red bandanna.

Watching him drink his port, Winton would mark:

"We can get you at any time, can't we?"

And the doctor, sucking his lips, would answer:

"Never fear, my dear sir! Little Miss Gyp--old friend of mine. At her
service