Herman Medfield glanced at her sharply as she came in.

"I've been ringing some time," he said dryly.

"I was in the linen-room. I'm sorry. I came as soon as I could."

He looked at her face. "What is the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing." She shook her head.

"You look as if you had been crying," he said, studying her.

"I haven't anything to cry about. I am very happy!" She returned his gaze serenely, with a little fluttering look that came and went underneath.

"You look happy," he admitted. "But I could swear you'd been crying."

"It doesn't matter how I look, does it?" She straightened the clothes a little and shook out his pillows. "Can I get you something, sir? I'm sorry you had to wait."

"It doesn't matter. But I woke up, and thought of Julian—I was afraid he would go away.... I told you to have him wait, you know; and it's after three—he ought to be here by this time." His tone was petulant.

"I'll see if he is here," she replied.

But the door of the sitting-room had opened and they caught a glimpse of the young man crossing the room.

"There he is!" said his father with satisfaction. "Now, don't you go—I may need you."

The boy came and stood in the doorway. "Hallo, Father! How do you do, Miss Canfield." He bowed to her.

"Come in, Julian," said Medfield impatiently. "I missed you this morning. How did you find things at the office?"

"All right, I guess." The young man crossed the room slowly. "I shouldn't know if they weren't right.... I know as much about the business as"—he looked about him and smiled—"as that brass knob over there!" He nodded to it.

His father smiled contentedly. "You'll learn." Then he looked at him quickly. "You like it, don't you?"

"Oh, I like it," said the young man comfortably. "I like it better than anything I've ever done—I feel as if I belonged there. I feel like my own grandfather, I guess." He laughed happily.

"Of course they treat me a good deal like a kid," he added.

"You're not so very old!" responded Herman Medfield with a twinkle.

The young man's eye rested impersonally on the nurse who was moving about the room. "I'm growing up every day," he declared cheerfully.

Miss Canfield's face was not responsive. She was studying Herman Medfield's chart. She took it up and left the room.

Medfield's eyes followed her. "There's a young woman who knows her business," he said with approval.

Julian sat down. "She seems very competent," he responded.

His father shot a keen glance at his cheerful indifference.

"She's more than competent," he said severely. "You want to be tied up like this for a while—to find out what people really are."

"I don't think I should mind it—so much." The boy smiled at him frankly. "You look very comfortable, sir."

"I am better," admitted Medfield.

"What put you back yesterday?"

Medfield looked at the ceiling. "Nobody seems to understand just what it was," he said quietly, "unless, maybe, Aunt Jane knows.... I think perhaps she understands the case—better than the doctor."

"She's a nice old woman!" said Julian pleasantly. "Comfortable to have around."

His father's glance was amused and a little critical. "How old do you suppose she may be, my son?"

"Oh—I don't know—fifty! Any age!" said the boy. "You don't think of age—with a woman like that. You just love her!"

His father smiled. "You have some sense, I see...."

"No, I don't want it!" He held up a warning hand. Miss Canfield had returned with his medicine. "I don't want it!" he said.

Miss Canfield smiled. "The doctor said you were to have it, sir."

"Set it down," said Medfield. "I'll take it by and by.... I'm not sick," he grumbled. "I don't need medicine!" He glanced at it with aversion.

His son looked on with amused smile.

Medfield's eye rested on him and then on Miss Canfield. His face cleared. He motioned to her. "I want my son to see that catalogue that came this morning—the rose catalogue, you know. Will you show it to him, please. It's in the other room."

She started toward the door. "I will bring it."

But he held up a hand. "No, I don't want it in here. I'm tired."

He turned to Julian. "It's the catalogue of foreign roses, from Rotterdam—the firm that Munson orders from. He wants to send in orders for fall delivery—right away. I looked it over and made out a list.... I showed Miss Canfield. She understands——"

He closed his eyes. "I think I'll rest a few minutes," he said. "She'll show the list to you and tell you what I said, and you can give it to Munson to-night. Don't forget it."

He waved them away and lay with closed eyes.... Presently he opened his eyes and smiled a little.... Through the open door he could see two heads bending over the catalogue. The murmur of voices came to him soothingly.

He drew a sigh.... It was almost as if the boy were stupid! A girl like that—one in a thousand—right before him, every day for over a week now!... He lay listening to the voices—there were long silences, it seemed to him, and pauses.... The heads had moved a little. He could not see them and the gaps of silence irritated him.... His thoughts ran back to his own youth. He had not been backward! He held it with a flitting smile. In less than two weeks from the day he met her, she had promised to marry him.... Young people nowadays had no spirit—no fire! He fumed a little. It would probably take Julian six months to discover that the girl was even pretty!... He could not lie in bed six months, waiting for his son to get his eyes open!

He rang the bell impatiently and Miss Canfield came to the door.

She glanced at the glass on the stand beside him. "You have not taken your medicine!"

He looked at it guiltily. "I forgot.... Did you make out the list?"

"Partly." She hesitated, and he fancied that a little fine flush crept along under the transparent skin. "I don't believe I remembered all you said about them."

"Never mind!" He was magnanimous and suddenly cheerful. "I'll go over them again to-morrow.... And I'd like you to see the place where they are to be put." He was speaking slowly. "I think you might help me—if it isn't too much trouble——"

She looked at him questioningly.

"My rose garden, I mean," said Medfield.

"Oh—!" The little fine flush swept up again.

He watched it with satisfaction.

"Julian has never taken much interest in the garden," said Medfield. "He doesn't know one rose from another."

"No—?" She was busy with the glass on the stand.

"But women have a kind of instinct about such things." He was impersonal and gallant; and the little shadow of disturbance left her face.

She moved about, making him comfortable.

"I wish you would ask my son to come here," said Medfield.

The young man came—with the catalogue in his hand. His face was open and cheerful.

"How far have you got?" asked Medfield.

"I don't understand all your hieroglyphics," replied the young man, seating himself on the edge of the bed. "This, for instance!" He held out the book, pointing to a brilliantly colored specimen with little pencilled dots on the margin.

Medfield glanced at it. "That means, 'Try again,'" he said.

"Oh—!" He made a memorandum on the margin, smiling a little as he did it.

"Munson never wants to try things twice," said his father. "You'll have to watch him, or he'll leave that out, now." He nodded to the brilliant-pictured rose.

The boy's eye dwelt on it. "Looks worth trying for—several times," he said softly.

"It is," replied his father. "It's hardy and fragrant and prolific—I am going to have Miss Canfield go out home—to see the garden," he added irrelevantly.

The young man stood up. He looked at his father, a little bewildered, and then toward the door of the next room, where a white figure was flitting about at work.

"I want her to see the garden," went on Medfield. "She has excellent taste—and common sense. She can tell me what Munson's up to—this is just the season he needs watching. No telling what he'll do!"

"I see!" The young man turned over the pages of the Rotterdam catalogue slowly. He was absorbed in them.

"She's going to-morrow afternoon," said Medfield.

"Alone?"

"I suppose she'll go alone, yes—unless you want to spare time to take her," said Medfield carelessly.

"I shall be very glad to take her, sir!"

"Very well." Medfield was indifferent. "You can arrange it between you—four o'clock is a good time to be there," he added. "The light is very good about four." He lay silent for a few minutes. It was growing dark in the room.

"You might have them serve tea for you in the pergola," he said quietly.

Julian started. He had thought his father was asleep. He came over to the bed.

"I'll see that she has a pleasant afternoon, sir." He stood looking down at his father, his hands in his pockets.

"She's been very good to me—taken good care of me, you know," replied Medfield.

"I understand," said Julian. "I'll do everything I can to make it pleasant for her." He looked at his father—and opened his lips to say something and turned away.

Miss Canfield had come in and touched the electric light, and it flooded softly into the room.