uring Miss Albers' hour and a
half off. There was an abutment at one end of her room which overlooked
the Whitman garden and carried the eye on down the hill until it rested
on the factory in Whitmanville--the factory which made the garden
possible for her. There was a letter in her lap from Tom. It had come
with his roses and it asked her to go with him to the boat race. There
was also a book in her lap, but she made no effort to read it; it was so
much easier just to gaze out of the window and let her mind wander where
it would.

Henry knocked and entered. "Well, this is very nice. Do you really feel
a lot better?"

"Ever so much, thank you. I think probably I'll get up in a day or two."

"I suppose you'll want your tonsils out now, won't you?" The question of
a tonsilectomy had been a moot one for years. Nancy had always been
anxious to have them out, having been told that it was merely a case of
"snip, snip, and a day on ice cream." Henry, who regarded tonsilectomy
skeptically as a fad, and who knew, furthermore, that it was a major
operation for adults and that old Mrs. Merton hadn't walked straight
since she had had hers out, was strongly opposed. This had, in fact,
been an exceedingly sore point with them, and the amount of unhappiness
engendered by it was considerably in excess of that which would have
resulted from an operation when it was first suggested.

"I'll have to wait, of course, until I get well over this. It isn't like
a rheumatism, you know." Nancy had learned the jargon thoroughly.

Well, that subject was now disposed of, and Henry, with the directness
of a trained economist, abruptly went into the main object of his call.
There had been certain features about Nancy's delirium which had
astonished and annoyed him, and he had come with the express purpose of
discussing them should he find Nancy strong enough. He now decided that
she was strong enough. "Do you realize that when your fever was high you
talked at a great rate?" he asked.

"I vaguely remember mumbling and grumbling."

Henry did not relish his task, but he felt it to be his duty--and Henry
had never been one to shirk his duty. "You talked a great deal about
this Tom Reynolds," he said.

"Yes?" Nancy was aware that she coloured. She was aware also of a sudden
sinking sensation, not dissimilar to the one that comes from a too rapid
drop in an elevator. So Henry had come to her at the first possible
moment to protest against "this T