sensitive as an unasked question.

But there was no response, and presently the elder woman rose and went
out along the landing, and Eileen heard her laughingly greeting Boots,
who had arrived post-haste on news of Drina's plight.

"Don't be frightened; the little wretch carried tons of indigestible
stuff to her room and sat up half the night eating it. Where's Philip?"

"I don't know. Here's a special delivery for him. I signed for it and
brought it from the house. He'll be here from the Hook directly, I
fancy. Where is Drina?"

"In bed. I'll take you up. Mind you, there'll be a scene, so nerve
yourself."

They went upstairs together. Nina knocked, peeped in, then summoned Mr.
Lansing.

"Oh, Boots, Boots!" groaned Drina, lifting her arms and encircling his
neck, "I don't think I am ever going to get well--I don't believe it, no
matter what they say. I am glad you have come; I wanted you--and I'm
very, very sick. . . . Are you happy to be with me?"

Boots sat on the bedside, the feverish little head in his arms, and Nina
was a trifle surprised to see how seriously he took it.

"Boots," she said, "you look as though your last hour had come. Are you
letting that very bad child frighten you? Drina, dear, mother doesn't
mean to be horrid, but you're too old to whine. . . . It's time for the
medicine, too--"

"Oh, mother! the nasty kind?"

"Certainly. Boots, if you'll move aside--"

"Let Boots give it to me!" exclaimed the child tragically. "It will do
no good; I'm not getting better; but if I must take it, let Boots hold
me--and the spoon!"

She sat straight up in bed with a superb gesture which would have done
credit to that classical gentleman who heroically swallowed the hemlock
cocktail. Some of the dose bespattered Boots, and when the deed was done
the child fell back and buried her head on his breast, incidentally
leaving medicinal traces on his collar.

Half an hour later she was asleep, holding fast to Boots's sleeve, and
that young gentleman sat in a chair beside her, discussing with her
pretty mother the plans made for Gladys and Gerald on their expected
arrival.

Eileen, pale and heavy-lidded, looked in on her way to some afternoon
affair, nodding unsmiling at Boots.

"Have you been rifling the pantry, too?" he whispered. "You lack your
usual chromatic symphony."

"No, Boots; I'm just tired. If I wasn't physically afraid of Drina, I'd
get you to run off with me--anywhere. . . . What is that