To-day, more than ever before, Lady Ashbridge seemed to exist only through him.  As Sylvia knew, she had been for the last few weeks constantly disagreeable to him; but she wondered whether this exacting, meticulous affection was not harder to bear.  Yet Michael, in spite of the nervous strain which now showed itself so clearly, seemed to find no difficulty at all in responding to it.  It might have worn his nerves to tatters, but the tenderness and love of him passed unhampered through the frayed communications, for it was he himself who was brought into play.  It was of that Michael, now more and more triumphantly revealed, that Sylvia felt so proud, as if he had been a possession, an achievement wholly personal to her.  He was her Michael—­it was just that which was becoming evident, since nothing else would account for her claim of him, unconsciously whispered by herself to herself.

It was not long before Lady Ashbridge’s nurse appeared, to take her upstairs to rest.  At that her patient became suddenly and unaccountably agitated:  all the happy content of the day was wiped off her mind.  She clung to Michael.

“No, no, Michael,” she said, “they mustn’t take me away.  I know they are going to take me away from you altogether.  You mustn’t leave me.”

Nurse Baker came towards her.

“Now, my lady, you mustn’t behave like that,” she said.  “You know you are only going upstairs to rest as usual before dinner.  You will see Lord Comber again then.”

She shrank from her, shielding herself behind Michael’s shoulder.

“No, Michael, no!” she repeated.  “I’m going to be taken away from you.  And look, Miss—­ah, my dear, I have forgotten your name—­look, she has got no hat on.  She was going to stop with me a long time.  Michael, must I go?”

Michael saw the nurse looking at her, watching her with that quiet eye of the trained attendant.

Then she spoke to Michael.

“Well, if Lord Comber will just step outside with me,” she said, “we’ll see if we can arrange for you to stop a little longer.”

“And you’ll come back, Michael,” said she.

Michael saw that the nurse wanted to say something to him, and with infinite gentleness disentangled the clinging of Lady Ashbridge’s hand.

“Why, of course I will,” he said.  “And won’t you give Miss Falbe another cup of tea?”

Lady Ashbridge hesitated a moment.

“Yes, I’ll do that,” she said.  “And by the time I’ve done that you will be back again, won’t you?”

Michael followed the nurse from the room, who closed the door without shutting it.

“There’s something I don’t like about her this evening,” she said.  “All day I have been rather anxious.  She must be watched very carefully.  Now I want you to get her to come upstairs, and I’ll try to make her go to bed.”

Michael felt his mouth go suddenly dry.

“What do you expect?” he said.