'Far better, in my opinion,' continued Bruce, walking up and down the
room.--'Now, don't interrupt me in your impulsive way, but hear me
out--it would be far more kind and sensible in every way for you to sit
right down at that little writing-table, take out your stylographic pen
and write and tell my mother that I have a bad attack of influenza....
Yes; one should always be considerate to one's parents. I suppose it
really is the way I was brought up that makes me feel this so keenly,'
he explained.

Edith sat down to the writing-table. 'How bad is your influenza?'

'Oh, not very bad; because it would worry her: a slight attack.--Stop!
Not so very slight--we must let her think it's the ordinary kind, and
then she'll think it's catching and she won't come here for a few days,
and that will avoid our going into the matter in detail, which would be
better.'

'If she thinks it's catching, dear, she'll want Archie and Dilly, and
Miss Townsend and Nurse to go and stay with her in South Kensington,
and that will be quite an affair.'

'Right as usual; very thoughtful of you; you're a clever little woman
sometimes, Edith. Wait!'--he put up his hand with a gesture frequent
with him, like a policeman stopping the traffic at Hyde Park Corner.
'Wait!--leave out the influenza altogether, and just say I've caught a
slight chill.'

'Yes. Then she'll come over at once, and you'll have to go to bed.'