from a lamentable delusion.

He said she had been awfully good to him. But it was rather hard luck on
him, wasn't it, that he should have gone and turned this beastly colour?

I said rather loftily I didn't suppose it mattered to Viola what colour
he turned.

(What _could_ it matter to her?)

She came in presently and took me down to her sitting-room, and gave me
tea. She owned to having sat up three nights with Jevons. She couldn't
have believed it possible that anybody could be so ill. For three days
and three nights the poor thing hadn't been able to keep anything
down--not even a drop of water. But to-day she had been feeding him on
the whites of eggs beaten up with brandy.

She seemed to me to be obsessed with Jevons's illness, and I made her
come out with me for ten minutes for a blow on the Heath. I tried to lead
her mind to other things, and she listened politely. Then there was
silence, and presently I felt her arm slide into mine (she had these
adorable impulses of confidence).

"Furny," she said, "what does jaundice come from?"

I said it generally came from chill.

She frowned, as if she were not satisfied with that explanation. And
there was another silence. Then she began again: