id not speak.

'Oh, why doesn't the doctor come? I must send in a few minutes.'

But as soon as she had spoken a bell rang in the lower part of the
house. Amy had no doubt that it announced the promised visit.

She left the room, and in a minute or two returned with the medical
man. When the examination of the child was over, Reardon requested a few
words with the doctor in the room downstairs.

'I'll come back to you,' he whispered to Amy.

The two descended together, and entered the drawing-room.

'Is there any hope for the little fellow?' Reardon asked.

Yes, there was hope; a favourable turn might be expected.

'Now I wish to trouble you for a moment on my own account. I shouldn't
be surprised if you tell me that I have congestion of the lungs.'

The doctor, a suave man of fifty, had been inspecting his interlocutor
with curiosity. He now asked the necessary questions, and made an
examination.

'Have you had any lung trouble before this?' he inquired gravely.

'Slight congestion of the right lung not many weeks ago.'

'I must order you to bed immediately. Why have you allowed your symptoms
to go so far without--'

'I have just come down from London,' interrupted Reardon.

'Tut, tut, tut! To bed this moment, my dear sir! There is inflammation,
and--'

'I can't have a bed in this house; there is no spare room. I must go to
the nearest hotel.'

'Positively? Then let me take you. My carriage is at the door.'

'One thing--I beg you won't tell my wife that this is serious. Wait till
she is out of her anxiety about the child.'

'You will need the services of a nurse. A most unfortunate thing that
you are obliged to go to the hotel.'

'It can't be helped. If a nurse is necessary, I must engage one.'

He had the strange sensation of knowing that whatever was needful could
be paid for; it relieved his mind immensely. To the rich, illness has
none of the worst horrors only understood by the poor.

'Don't speak a word more than you can help,' said the doctor as he
watched Reardon withdraw.

Amy stood on the lower stairs, and came down as soon as her husband
showed himself.

'The doctor is good enough to take me in his carriage,' he whispered.
'It is better that I should go to bed, and get a good night's rest. I
wish I could have sat with you, Amy.'

'Is it anything? You look worse than when you came, Edwin.'

'A feverish cold. Don't give it a thought, dearest. Go to Willie.
Good-night!'

She thr