“Late—­oh, so very, very late!  I must be more careful of her, Phil; because, if you and I grow up, some day we may marry, and we ought to know all about children.  It would be great fun, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded, forcing a smile.

“Don’t you think so?” she persisted.

“Yes—­yes, indeed,” he said gently.

She laughed, contented with his answer, and laid her lips against the painted face of the doll.

“When we grow up, years from now—­then we’ll understand, won’t we, Phil? . . .  I am tired with playing. . . .  And Phil—­let me whisper something.  Is that person gone?”

He turned and signed to the nurse, who quietly withdrew.

“Is she gone?” repeated Alixe.

“Yes.”

“Then listen, Phil.  Do you know what she and the other one are about all day? I know; I pretend not to, but I know.  They are watching me every moment—­always watching me, because they want to make you believe that I am forgetting you.  But I am not.  That is why I made them send for you so I could tell you myself that I could never, never forget you. . . .  I think of you always while I am playing—­always—­always I am thinking of you.  You will believe it, won’t you?”

“Yes,” he said.

Contented, she turned to her doll again, undressing it deftly, tenderly.

“At moments,” she said, “I have an odd idea that it is real.  I am not quite sure even now.  Do you believe it is alive, Phil?  Perhaps, at night, when I am asleep, it becomes alive. . . .  This morning I awoke, laughing, laughing in delight—­thinking I heard you laughing, too—­as once—­in the dusk where there were many roses and many stars—­big stars, and very, very bright—­I saw you—­saw you—­and the roses—­”

She paused with a pained, puzzled look of appeal.

“Where was it, Phil?”

“In Manila town.”

“Yes; and there were roses.  But I was never there.”

“You came out on the veranda and pelted me with roses.  There were others there—­officers and their wives.  Everybody was laughing.”

“Yes—­but I was not there, Phil. . . .  Who—­who was the tall, thin bugler who sounded taps?”

“Corrigan.”

“And—­the little, girl-shaped, brown men?”

“My constabulary.”

“I can’t recollect,” she said listlessly, laying the doll against her breast.  “I think, Phil, that you had better be a little quiet now—­she may wish to sleep.  And I am sleepy, too,” lifting her slender hand as a sign for him to take his leave.

As he went out the nurse said:  “If you wish to return to town, you may, I think.  She will forget about you for two or three days, as usual.  Shall I telegraph if she becomes restless?”

“Yes.  What does the doctor say to-day?”

The slim nurse looked at him under level brows.

“There is no change,” she said.

“No hope.”  It was not even a question.