“Says she’ll take another aig,” she explained.  “Only took one yesterday, and then I had two all cooked.”

“What did I tell you?” jeered Hand.

“You didn’t tell me anything about aigs, not that I recollect,” Sallie replied tartly.

“Well, the principle’s the same,” asserted Hand.  After a moment his countenance assumed a crafty and jocose expression, which would have put even Sallie on her guard if she had looked up in time to see it.  “You won’t have so much extra work when mademoiselle’s maid arrives,” he said slyly. “She’ll wait on mademoiselle and attend to her tray when she wants one, and you won’t have to do anything for mademoiselle at all.”

Sallie became slowly transfixed in a spread-eagle attitude, with the half of a thin white egg-shell held up in each hand.

“A maid!  When’s she coming?”

“Ought to be here now, she’s had time enough.  But women never can get round without wasting a lot of time.”  Sallie’s glance must have brought him to his senses, for he added hastily, “City women, I mean.”

“Hm!  She won’t touch Parson Thayer’s china—­not if I know myself!” Sallie disappeared with Miss Redmond’s second egg.  When she returned, she delivered a message to the effect that Miss Redmond wished to see Mr. Hand when he had finished his luncheon.  He was off instantly, calling, “Watch that broth, Sallie!”

It was a different Hand, however, who entered Miss Redmond’s room a moment later.  His half impudent manner changed to distant respect, tinged with a sort of personal adoration.  Agatha felt it, though it was too intangible to be taken notice of, either for rebuke or reward.  Agatha was sitting in a rocking-chair by the window, sipping her tea out of the best tea-cup, her tray on a stand in front of her.  She looked excited and flushed, but her eyes were tired.

“Can I do anything for you, Mademoiselle?” Hand inquired courteously.

“Yes, please,” answered Agatha, and paused a moment, as if to recall her thoughts in order.  Hand was very presentable, in negligee shirt which Sallie must have washed while he was asleep.  He was one of those people who look best in their working or sporting clothes, ruddy, clean and strong.  He would have dwindled absolutely into the commonplace in Sunday clothes, if he was ever so rash as to have any.

“I wish to talk with you a little,” said Agatha.  “We haven’t had much opportunity of talking, so far; and perhaps it is time that we understand each other a little better.”

“As mademoiselle wishes,” conceded Hand.

“In the first place,” Agatha went on, “I must tell you that Mrs. Stoddard is coming to help nurse Mr. Hambleton.  You have been very good to stay with us so long; and if you will stay on, I shall be glad.  But Doctor Thayer thinks you should have help, and so do I. Especially for the next few days.”

“That is entirely agreeable to me, Mademoiselle.”