“You are an early bird!” she exclaimed.  “And a very proper bird, too.  I suppose you thought you mustn’t come into my room in a dressing-gown?”

“I haven’t slept all night,” he said stiffly.  “So I got up an hour ago.  I came and looked in here, as a matter of fact, on my way to the bathroom.  But you were asleep.  And then, after I was dressed, I went down to the kitchen, and made myself a cup of tea.  I thought I’d make one for you, too, just on chance.”

He came up close to her, and Bubbles, shaking back her short curly hair, took the cup from him.  “This is delicious!  You are a good sort, Bill!”

He sat down on the end of her bed while she thirstily, greedily, drank the tea he had brought her.  In all her gestures there was something bird-like and exquisite.  Even when she was greedy Bubbles was dainty too.

“I do hope you’re feeling none the worse”—­he began.

And she mimicked him, gleefully, speaking in a low whisper.  “None the worse, thank you!  It’s a comfort, sometimes, to be with a person who always says exactly what you might expect he would say!  I’m always sure of that comfort with you—­old thing.”

“Are you?” He smiled his slow, doubtful smile, and Bubbles said suddenly:  “You’ve gone and left the door open.”

He stood up, irresolute.  “I suppose I ought to go away,” he said hesitatingly.

She exclaimed:  “No, no, Bill!  I won’t have you go away!  I don’t want you to go away!  I want you to stay with me.  But you must shut the door, for it’s very cold.”

“D’you think I’d better shut the door?” he asked.

And then Bubbles seized his lean, strong hand.  “Oh!  I see what you mean!” she exclaimed.  “You actually think your being in here is more proper if the door is open?  But it isn’t a bit—­for everyone in the house but us two is fast asleep!  Still, that won’t go on long.  So shut the door at once!  I’ve something very important to say to you—­something which I certainly don’t want Pegler to hear me say to you.  Pegler may come down any moment—­she’s such a good sort, under that stiff, cross manner.  It’s so queer she should disapprove of me, and approve of my Aunt Blanche, isn’t it?”

He got up, and going to the door, shut it.

“Lock it!” she called out.  “Lock it, Bill!  I don’t want to be disturbed;” she repeated in an odd voice, “I’ve something very important to say to you.”

But this time he did not obey her, and as he came back towards the bed he said anxiously, “D’you still feel very bad, Bubbles?”

There was a tone of great tenderness and solicitude in his voice.

“Of course I do.  So would you, if you’d died and come to life again.”

“You didn’t do that,” he said in a low voice.  “But you were very nearly drowned, Bubbles.  However, we must try to forget it.”

Again she mimicked him:  “‘We must try to forget it.’  I was waiting for you to say that, too.  As if we should ever forget it!  But we won’t think about it just now—­because we’ve got to think of something else that’s much more to the present purpose.”