were really dying. She would, drive straight to his studio. She had
been there before, but then she knew no one would be there. She would
have to risk the chance of some one seeing her going in and coming
out. But no matter who saw her, she must go. She hailed a hansom, and
the discovery that she was capable of so much adventure, pleased her.
She thought of his poor sick-bed in the dark room behind the studio.
She had caught sight of his bedroom as she had passed through the
passage. She believed herself capable and willing to sit by his sick-
bed and nurse him. She did not as a rule care for sick people, but she
thought she would like to nurse him.

The hansom turned through the Chelsea streets getting nearer and
nearer to the studio. She wondered who was nursing him--there must be
some one there.... The hansom stopped. She got out and knocked. The
door was opened by a young woman who looked like a servant, but
Mildred was not deceived by her appearance. 'One of his models come to
nurse him,' she thought.

'I have heard,' she said, 'that Mr. Hoskin is ill.'

'Yes, he is very ill, I'm sorry to say.'

'I should like to see him. Will you inquire?'

'He's not well enough to see any one to-day. He has just dozed off. I
couldn't awake him. But I'll give him any message.'

'Give him my card and say I would like to see him. Stay, I'll write a
word upon it.'