“Why, how silly!” she laughed.  “If you hadn’t monkeyed about at the hospital we should never have met!”

The next day she went into hospital:  as the anesthetic broke over her in delicious warm waves she was frantically afraid that she was going to die; it seemed to her that these calm, business-like surgeons and nurses only treated her as one of millions, not realizing that she was Marcella Lashcairn, immensely important to Louis and Andrew.  She began to feel that it would be much better if she did not have an anesthetic at all, and superintended the whole business herself intelligently.  It seemed wrong that she should have no hand in a thing of such profound importance.  Then her will relaxed a little and she was horribly afraid that she would feel sharp knives through the anesthetic.  A blinding flash of realization abased her utterly.  Just on the borders of unconsciousness she saw Kraill looking at her with his beautiful eyes clouded with disappointment.

“He knows I’m afraid of being cut up—­and he knows I’m afraid of dying I—­Naturally he knows—­he lives in my imagination!—­and he wanted my courage—­But I’m not really frightened, you know.  Can’t you see I’m not?”

It became immediately necessary to explain this to Kraill.  She tried to push the mask away.  A very steady, pleasant voice was saying “breathe deeply,” and she realized that she had once more been taken up by things much stronger and wiser than herself:  quite conceivably they might make a mess of her, hurt her and even kill her.  But they were doing wisely; and anyway, she herself could do nothing more—­buoyant warm waves took her up and carried her right away from caring.

When she wakened again all fear had gone; she was conscious of a burning corkscrew boring into her body somewhere, but she was too lazy to localize it.  A long, long time after that she saw sunshine and smelt something very beautiful.

She focussed her eyes on something that swayed drunkenly:  after awhile it stood still, and she saw that it was a little blue vase filled with boronia.  The breeze from the open window was tapping the blind softly to and fro, and wafting the scent of the boronia over her face.  Then she saw Louis’s face, very white, above her.

“All right, old girl?” he whispered.

She tried to find her hand to raise it to him, but it seemed so far from her that she would have to go to the end of the world to fetch it.  And that was too far.  So she smiled at him.

“You’re all right, you see,” he said nervously.  “Gloomy forebodings are so silly, aren’t they?”

“I—­thought I should feel it,” she said.

“I told you you wouldn’t, didn’t I?  The nurse said you took an awful time to go under—­”

“Yes.  I wanted to explain something.  And I wanted to help the surgeons—­I thought I’d—­do it—­much better than they could.”

“Just like you, old lady,” he said, with his eyes wet.