But she
mustn't cross Allan, tired as he must be!

"Good-night, Allan," she said again sedately, and kissed his cheek as
she had done a month ago--years ago!--when they had been married. Then
she fled.

"Wallis," said his master dreamily when his man appeared again, "I want
some more real clothes. Tired of sleeping-suits. Get me some, please.
Good-night."

As for Phyllis, in her little green-and-white room above him, she was
crying comfortably into her pillow. She had not the faintest idea why,
except that she liked doing it. She felt, through her sleepiness, a
faint, hungry, pleasant want of something, though she hadn't an idea
what it could be. She had everything, except that it wasn't time for the
roses to be out yet. Probably that was the trouble.... Roses.... She,
too, went to sleep.

* * * * *

"How did Mr. Allan pass the night?" Phyllis asked Wallis anxiously,
standing outside his door next morning. She had been up since seven,
speeding the parting guests and interviewing the cook and chambermaid.
Mrs. Clancy's choice had been cheerful to a degree, and black, all of
it; a fat Virginia cook, a slim young Tuskegee chambermaid of a pale
saddle-color, and a shiny brown outdoor man who came from nowhere in
particular, but was very useful now he was here. Phyllis had seen them
all this morning, and found them everything servants should be. Now she
was looking after Allan, as her duty was.

Wallis beamed from against the door-post, his tray in his hands.

"Mrs. Harrington, it's one of the best sleeps Mr. Allan's had! Four
hours straight, and then sleeping still, if broken, till six! And still
taking interest in things. Oh, ma'am, you should have heard him
yesterday on the train, as furious as furious! It was beautiful!"

"Then his spine wasn't jarred," said Phyllis thoughtfully. "Wallis, I
believe there was more nervous shock and nervous depression than ever
the doctors realized. And I believe all he needs is to be kept happy, to
be much, much better. Wouldn't it be wonderful if he got so he could
move freely from the waist up? I believe that may happen if we can keep
him cheered and interested."

Wallis looked down at his tray. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "Not to speak ill
of the dead, Mrs. Harrington, the late Mrs. Harrington was always saying
'My poor stricken boy,' and things like that--'Do not jar him with
ill-timed light or merriment,' and reminding him how bad he was. And she