"The eighth of May! Where's the Rain-Girl, Pan, the concertina?" he enquired faintly.
"Hush! I shall get into trouble with the doctor if I allow you to talk," she said. "You must sleep now, and we will talk when you are stronger."
"Nature discourages eccentricity, did you know that?" he muttered apathetically, as he closed his eyes.
The nurse regarded him curiously. He did not appear to be delirious; yet what he was saying was Sick-nursing, however, produces its own philosophy, and she settled herself down to read until the doctor should arrive.
A lengthy period of silence was broken by Beresford.
"Would you very much mind putting aside your book and answering a few questions?" he asked in a feeble voice.
With an air of professional resignation, she lowered the book on her lap.
"You really mustn't talk. If you do I shall have to go out of the room. Now you don't want me to get into trouble, do you?" Her tone was that one would adopt to a child.
Beresford lay still, trying to think; but his brain refused his will. The nurse had returned to her book and read steadily on, deliberately disregarding the two or three tentative efforts her patient made to attract her attention. His voice was very faint, and she pretended not to hear. The doctor had said he was not to talk, and she was too good a
