When she was let in she threw off her hat and dashed at Marjorie greedily. She took her pulse eight times in succession and refused supper because she wanted to get so many respirations and temperatures that she had no time to eat. 

 She was just settling down to a nicely scientific evening when Mr. Fielding entered the nursery. Mr. Fielding feared Chiswick as much as he feared Mrs. Fielding. He cast one glance at Marjorie, sweet and clean in her nightgown, and another at the door, and then smiled at Chiswick. It was a guileful smile. 

 “Chiswick,” he said, “it is a beautiful evening.”  

 “Is it, sir?” she asked, coldly. 

 “Beautiful,” he returned with great enthusiasm. “Beautiful! I never saw a finer night—outside.”  

 “You don't say!” she remarked, but her voice expressed the deepest unconcern for the weather. Mr. Fielding moved toward Marjorie. Chiswick quietly slipped between them. 

 “My!” Mr. Fielding exclaimed. “You are not looking at all well yourself, Chiswick. You are overworking. I don't know what Mrs. Fielding can be thinking about to let you wear yourself out so. You are so faithful, so—”  

 Chiswick shook her head. 

 “I don't want no outing,” she said, sullenly. “I've had one. I don't need no more. I'm well.”  

 “Really,” said Mr. Fielding, “a little run in this fresh evening air would do wonders for you; wonders! It would quite set you up again. You must think of your health, Chiswick.” He eyed Marjorie longingly. 

 “No, thank you,” said Chiswick. “I'll try to get along.”  

 “Chiswick!” said Mr. Fielding. “I insist. You may neglect your health if you wish, but I cannot. What would Marjorie do if you should get sick—and die? I insist that you must go out for a little constitutional. Say for two hours, or three, if you wish.”  

 Chiswick balked and Mr. Fielding gently put his hand against her shoulder and pushed her to the door. She gave a last longing glance backward into the nursery and went. For two hours she sat desolately on the horse block and then sadly entered the house with a cold in her head. 

 Marjorie was asleep, but when she heard Chiswick's tread she sighed and held up one soft hand. Chiswick clasped it—and took her pulse. 

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