"How jolly you look!" was almost his first remark. "I'm glad you've got a
little place of your own, and don't have to sit with those poor creatures
downstairs all the time."

"It is much nicer. Some of them are getting better, though."

"Some of them aren't. There's one poor fellow in a reclining-chair who
looks badly."

"That's the one whose room Mrs. Watson has marked for her own. She asks
him three times a day how he feels, with all the solicitude of a mother,"
said Phil.

"Who's Mrs. Watson?"

"Well, she's an old lady who is somehow fastened to us, and who considers
herself our chaperone," replied Clover, with a little laugh. "I must
introduce you by-and-by, but first we want a good talk all by ourselves.
Now tell us why you haven't come to see us before. We have been hoping
for you every day."

"Well, I've wanted to come badly enough, but there has been a combination
of hindrances. Two of our men got sick, so there was more to do than
usual; then Geoff had to be away four days, and almost as soon as he got
back he had bad news from home, and I hated to leave him alone."

"What sort of bad news?"

"His sister's dead."