every expedient to get her through a performance. He
had studied her voice like a singing master; knew all of its
idiosyncracies and the emotional and nervous perturbations which affected
it. When it was permissible, sometimes when it was not permissible, he
indulged her caprices. On this sunny morning her wan, disconsolate face
moved him.

"Yes, you may see Tevis this evening if you will assure me that you will
not shed one tear for twenty-four hours. I may depend on your word?" He
rose, and stood before the deep couch on which his patient reclined. Her
arch look seemed to say, "On what could you depend more?" Creedon smiled,
and shook his head. "If I find you worse tomorrow--"

He crossed to the writing-table and began to separate a bunch of tiny
flame-coloured rosebuds. "May I?" Selecting one, he sat down on the
chair from which he had lately risen, and leaned forward while Kitty
pinched the thorns from the stem and arranged the flower in his
buttonhole.

"Thank you. I like to wear one of yours. Now I must be off to the
hospital. I've a nasty little operation to do this morning. I'm glad it's
not you. Shall I telephone Tevis about this evening?"

Kitty hesitated. Her eyes ran rapidly about, seeking a likely pretext.
Creedon laughed.

"Oh, I see. You've already asked him to come. You were so sure of me! Two
hours in bed after lunch, with all the windows open, remember. Read
something diverting, but not exciting; some homely British author;
nothing _abandonne_. And don't make faces at me. Until to-morrow!"

When her charming doctor had disappeared through the doorway, Kitty fell
back on her cushions and closed her eyes. Her mocking-bird, excited by
the sunlight, was singing in his big gilt cage, and a white lilac-tree
that had come that morning was giving out its faint sweetness in the
warm room. But Kitty looked paler and wearier than when the doctor was
with her. Even with him she rose to her part just a little; couldn't help
it. And he took his share of her vivacity and sparkle, like every one
else. He believed that his presence was soothing to her. But he admired;
and whoever admired, blew on the flame, however lightly.

The mocking-bird was in great form this morning. He had the best
bird-voice she had ever heard, and Kitty wished there were some way to
note down his improvisations; but his intervals were not expressible in
any scale she knew. Parker White had brought him to her, from Ojo
Caliente, in New