The guest never came down-stairs till luncheon was announced, and did not trouble herself to make an elaborate, or even appropriate toilet.  Madame began to wonder how long Isabel intended to remain and to see the wisdom of the modern fashion of appointing the hour of departure in the invitation.

Yet, as she said to herself rather grimly, she would have invited Isabel to remain through the Summer, and perhaps, in the early Autumn she might return to town of her own accord.  Moreover, there appeared to be no graceful way of requesting an invited guest to leave.

Though Madame was annoyed by the mere fact of Isabel’s presence, she had ceased to distress Rose, who dwelt now in a world apart from the others.  She spent her afternoons at the other house, playing softly downstairs, reading to Allison, or talking to him of the brilliant future that she insisted was to be his.

Neither of them spoke of the hour in which Rose had unwittingly revealed herself, nor did they seem to avoid the subject.  Allison had taken her for granted, on a high plane of pure friendliness, and not for an instant did he translate her overpowering impulse as anything but womanly pity.

She practised for an hour or two every morning that she might play better in the afternoon, she ransacked the library for interesting and cheerful things to read to him, and she even found a game or two that he seemed to enjoy.  From Madame Francesca’s spotless kitchen came many a dainty dish to tempt his capricious appetite, and all the flowers from both gardens, daily, made a bower of his room.

Constantly, too, Rose brought the message of hopefulness and good cheer.  From her abounding life and superb vitality he drew unconscious strength; the hidden forces that defy analysis once more exerted themselves in his behalf.  So far as man is of the earth, earthy, by the earth and its fruits may he be healed, but the heavenly part of him may be ministered unto only by the angels of God.

His old fear of the darkness had gone and the night light had been taken out into the hall.  In the faint glow, he could see the objects in his room distinctly, during the brief intervals of wakefulness.  A flower dropped from its vase, a book lying half open, a crumpled handkerchief upon his chiffonier, the pervading scent of attar of roses and dried petals—­all these brought him a strange sense of nearness to Rose, as a perfume may be distilled from a memory.

Day by day, Isabel became more remote.  He thought of her without emotion when he thought of her at all, for only women may know the agony of love enduring after the foundation upon which it was built has been swept away.

The strange men from distant places came less frequently.  Days would pass, and bring no word.  The country doctor who had first been called stopped occasionally when time permitted, and his faithful old horse needed a little rest, but he only shook his head.  He admitted to the nurse that he was greatly surprised because the inevitable operation had not yet become imperative.