Medfield looked back into the ward. The children had returned to their picture-books and toys. They were not thinking of Mr. Herman any more. The quiet look had returned to the room.

"That was very pretty," he said. "Thank you!" His eyes were gentle, and a little moist, as they met hers for a moment.

"Don't thank me!" said Aunt Jane hastily. "I didn't do anything!"

"Didn't you tell them to do it?"

"I didn't tell them anything, except that you were Mr. Herman. They did the rest themselves.... Children generally do things—nice things, if you let 'em alone—and don't meddle too much."

"You better go out and preach that doctrine to the world," said Medfield laughing. He was looking out over the city.

"I haven't time to preach," said Aunt Jane.... "Sometimes I wish I had—I've got a good many things I'd like to say!" Her eyes twinkled swiftly.

He nodded. "I've heard them—some of them—when I was cantankerous."

"You're doing pretty well, now," responded Aunt Jane.

"Fair." His tone was cautious. He was not to be inveigled into acknowledging complete recovery—yet. His glance travelled out over the roofs—and he started and leaned forward.

"I believe that is my place—over there!" He was pointing off into the haze where a greenhouse caught the sun on its glass and flashed back from the distance.

She nodded toward it. "That's your place, yes. I was noticing it the other day—when Julian and Mary Canfield went out there. I happened to be up here—and looked off and saw it." She regarded the flashing glass in the haze.

"It's quite a ways off," she said.

"Not very far—with a machine." His tone was aggressive and a little masterful. It seemed to pick her up and whirl her away through distance. Aunt Jane's face was meek.

"I'm glad you've got along so fast," she replied.

He regarded her suspiciously.

"And having your own car so—you won't mind the trip——"

"I'm not going!" said Medfield. He was chuckling a little.

She turned a distressed face to him. "I don't see how we're going to manage—if you don't!"

"I am not in anybody's way," said Medfield.... "I'll be good!" He was watching her expressive face.

"Yes, you're good! You are always good!" Aunt Jane's diplomacy was at its best.

He laughed out.

"You see—we need your room—your suite."

"What for?— I pay as much as anybody, don't I?" He turned on her quickly.

"You pay more.... Don't you remember I told you about that?"

"Yes." He recalled the facts. "I'm to pay for a Mrs. Pelton, too."

"That's it. I let you pay for her——"

"Thank you"—a little ironical and smiling.

"She wants to thank you," said Aunt Jane quietly. "I told her you'd let her."

"Keep her away!" He put out his hand to ward it off. "I've made out a check for her—you remind me to give it to you."

"A check?"

"You said she could use a hundred dollars," he replied.

"Now, wasn't that good in you!" She beamed on him and on his goodness.

He received it complacently. "I only wish there were something more I could do—for you." He said it carefully. He did not look at her now. He wanted to be sure she took it in—and he did not want to flustrate the meek quiet of her face.

A little light crept into the face—half guilty. "I've been planning to ask you for something," she said, "kind of screwing up my courage."

"Ask away—what is it?" He looked at her as Ahasuerus may have looked on Esther.

"You sit down, Mr. Medfield," said Aunt Jane.

"Is it as bad as that?" He laughed and sat down, regarding her quizzically.

"Go ahead!"

"It's a new wing—" said Aunt Jane.

"One of yours worn out?" Pretended astonishment and happiness was in the tone and she smiled at him tolerantly.

"It's for contagion— It will cost fifty thousand dollars— I thought maybe you'd like to give it." She flung the words at him. She had been meaning to do it all day—"screwing up her courage" to it.... She fired her bomb and she watched, waiting for it to go off. She sat alert and anxious.

He chuckled. "I'm glad I have enough!"

She wheeled quickly— "You're going to do it?"

"I'm going to think about it—look into it," said the man of business. A little keen look had come into his face, breaking its lazy quiet.

Aunt Jane regarded it without fear. She was her tranquil self again. "If you look into it, you'll find we need it pretty bad," she said.

He had taken out his pencil and was making a note. "All right. I may give you two wings ... if you really need them!" The tone was teasing again.

"I don't need two," said Aunt Jane composedly. "Of course, we may need another—some time," she added thoughtfully.

His laugh was happy.

"You'll let me stay now, won't you?" He put back his pencil and settled reposefully in his chair and watched her.

She turned on him. "Now you are being selfish!—and spoiling everything!" It was full of reproach, but tinged with the happiness of the new wing....

"You see it's a child!" said Aunt Jane.

"A child?" He sat up. "Put her in there!" He motioned to the ward.

She shook her head. "She can't be put there at first—not right off. Her mother's coming with her— Your suite is the only place we've got." She gazed out over the balcony-rail—not to disturb his feelings—but he stirred uncomfortably.

"Of course the mother'll go home in a day or two," went on Aunt Jane. "They generally do go home.... They come here thinking nobody can do for their children but themselves—and then, somehow—in a day or two, they go home." She sat looking at him and beaming, and Medfield laughed.

"And you're proud of it!" he said.

"I'm not proud—exactly," said Aunt Jane. "But I do take comfort, doing for them—and knowing they're all happy—as happy as they can be, with their sufferings.... They are coming Friday afternoon, along about four. So if you could be ready to go at three——"

"I'm not going!"

She regarded him mildly.

"You can have your old suite for them—" He was like a boy, laughing at her. "But I won't go home!"

"There isn't any other place for you," said Aunt Jane calmly. "I told you about it—we haven't any other room."

He looked about him. "I'll sleep anywhere—! I'll sleep in the Children's Ward!" He waved a hand.

Aunt Jane's face was vexed. Of course, he was going to give the wing—and it softened her austerity a little. But he was a grown man. He ought to behave better. She got up quickly. "I can't have you upsetting everything!" she said.

She went into the ward, leaving him in solitary state.

He watched the plump figure moving among the beds, and the faces turned to it; and he smiled whimsically.... "I mean to upset things a good deal more for you—before I'm done, Aunt Jane!" he said softly.

He sat looking out over the city and dreaming contentedly. When Aunt Jane appeared again in the door, he turned to her.

"I've decided," he said.

She came out.

"I'll go," he said, looking up at her. "I'll go—if you will go with me."

Up above them they could hear the awning flapping a little in the wind, and the children's voices from the ward.

Aunt Jane's gaze travelled out over the roofs, to the greenhouse and its glass flashing back the sunlight. She sighed.

"Well—I'll go. I'm too busy, and I ought not to take time.... I don't see how I can spare time to go. But you're so obstinate—" She looked at him appealingly.

He shook his head.

"Well—I'll go with you—" said Aunt Jane. "It won't take long—going in a car."

And Herman Medfield smiled, looking out across the roofs to his home.