“Do you put it that way?”

“Yes, I do.  Why, in Heaven’s name, do you want to stay in a vile hole like this—­unless you’re smitten with Mrs. Glodden?  Phil, I want you to come.  Will you?”

“Then—­I’ll accept a corner of your blanket—­for a day or two,” said Selwyn wearily. . . .  “You’ll let me go when I want to?”

“I’ll do more; I’ll make you go when I want you to.  Come on; pay Mrs. Glodden and have your trunk sent.”

Selwyn forced a laugh, then sat up on the bed’s edge and looked around at the unpapered walls.

“Boots—­you won’t say to—­to anybody what sort of a place I’ve been living in—­”

“No; but I will if you try to come back here.”

So Selwyn stood up and began to remove his dressing-gown, and Lansing dragged out the little flat trunk and began to pack it.

An hour later they went away together through the falling snow.

* * * * *

For a week Boots let him alone.  He had a big, comfortable room, dressing-closet, and bath adjoining the suite occupied by his host; he was absolutely free to go and come, and for a week or ten days Boots scarcely laid eyes on him, except at breakfast, for Selwyn’s visits to Sandy Hook became a daily routine except when a telegram arrived from Edgewater calling him there.

But matters at Edgewater were beginning to be easier in one way for him.  Alixe appeared to forget him for days at a time; she was less irritable, less restless and exacting.  A sweet-tempered and childish docility made the care of her a simpler matter for the nurses and for him; her discontent had disappeared; she made fewer demands.  She did ask for a sleigh to replace the phaeton, and Selwyn managed to get one for her; and Miss Casson, one of the nurses, wrote him how delighted Alixe had been, and how much good the sleighing was doing her.

“Yesterday,” continued the nurse in her letter, “there was a consultation here between Drs. Vail, Wesson, and Morrison—­as you requested.  They have not changed their opinions—­indeed, they are convinced that there is no possible chance of the recovery you hoped for when you talked with Dr. Morrison.  They all agree that Mrs. Ruthven is in excellent physical condition—­young, strong, vigorous—­and may live for years; may outlive us all.  But there is nothing else to expect.”

The letter ran on: 

“I am enclosing the bills you desired to have sent you.  Fuel is very expensive, as you will see.  The items for fruits, too, seems unreasonably large, but grapes are two dollars a pound and fresh vegetables dreadfully expensive.

“Mrs. Ruthven is comfortable and happy in the luxury provided.  She is very sweet and docile with us all—­and we are careful not to irritate her or to have anything intrude which might excite or cause the slightest shock to her.

“Yesterday, standing at the window, she caught sight of a passing negro, and she turned to me like a flash and said: