And Rose—­dear Rose!  How persistently she held the new way open before him; how steadily she insisted that the creative impulse was higher than interpretative skill!  How often she had reminded him of Carlyle’s stirring call:  “Produce, produce!  Though it be but the merest fraction of a fragment, produce it, in God’s name!” He had noticed that the materials for composition were always close at hand, though she never urged him to work.

He had come gradually to depend upon Rose—­a great deal more than he realised.  Quite often he perceived the truth of the saying that “a blue-ribbon friendship is better than an honourable mention love.”  It was evident that Isabel had never loved him, though she had been pleased and flattered by his love for her.

Even at the time that Aunt Francesca and Rose had congratulated him, and he had kissed them both in friendly fashion, he had taken passing note of the difference between Isabel and Rose.  Of course it was only that Isabel was made of ice and Rose of flesh and blood, but still, it was pleasant to remember that—­

His thoughts began to stray into other fields.  Rose was his promised wife, as far as name went, yet she treated him with the frank good comradeship that a liberal social code makes possible between men and women.  As far as Rose was concerned, there was no sentiment in the world.

When she read to him, it was invariably a story of adventure or of humorous complications, or a well-chosen exposition of some recent advance in science or art.  Their conversation was equally impersonal, even at the rare times they chanced to be alone.  Rose made Colonel Kent, Aunt Francesca, Doctor Jack, and even the nurse equally welcome to Allison’s society.

He went freely from room to room on the upper floor, but had not yet been downstairs, as a possible slip on the steps might do irreparable injury.  Doctor Jack wanted to get him downstairs and outdoors, believing that actual contact with the earth is almost as good for people as it is for plants, but saw no way to manage it without a stretcher, which he knew Allison would violently resent.

The twins came occasionally, by special invitation, though nobody noticed that it was always Doctor Jack who suggested it.  Once they brought a pan of Juliet’s famous fudges, which were politely appreciated by the others and extravagantly praised by the Doctor.  The following day he was rewarded by a private pan of especially rich fudges—­but Romeo brought it, on his way to the post-office.

There was a daily card-party upon the upper veranda, and sometimes meals were served there.  The piano had been moved upstairs into a back room.  The whole-hearted devotion of the household was beautiful to behold, yet underneath it all, like an unseen current, was the tense strain of waiting.

It was difficult not to annoy Doctor Jack with questions.  Rose and the Colonel continually reminded themselves and each other that he would be only too glad to bring encouragement at the moment he found it, and that by quiet and patience they could help him most.