“I don’t expect anything, but we must be prepared.  A change comes very quickly.”

Michael nodded, and they went back together.

“Now, mother darling,” he said, “up you go with Nurse Baker.  You’ve been out all day, and you must have a good rest before dinner.  Shall I come up and see you soon?”

A curious, sly look came into Lady Ashbridge’s face.

“Yes, but where am I going to?” she said.  “How do I know Nurse Baker will take me to my own room?”

“Because I promise you she will,” said Michael.

That instantly reassured her.  Mood after mood, as Michael saw, were passing like shadows over her mind.

“Ah, that’s enough!” she said.  “Good-bye, Miss—­there! the name’s gone again!  But won’t you sit here and have a talk to Michael, and let him show you over the house to see if you like it against the time—­Oh, Michael said I mustn’t worry you about that.  And won’t you stop and have dinner with us, and afterwards we can sing.”

Michael put his arm around her.

“We’ll talk about that while you’re resting,” he said.  “Don’t keep Nurse Baker waiting any longer, mother.”

She nodded and smiled.

“No, no; mustn’t keep anybody waiting,” she said.  “Your father taught me to be punctual.”

When they had left the room together, Sylvia turned to Michael.

“Michael, my dear,” she said, “I think you are—­well, I think you are Michael.”

She saw that at the moment he was not thinking of her at all, and her heart honoured him for that.

“I’m anxious about my mother to-night,” he said.  “She has been so—­I suppose you must call it—­well all day, but the nurse isn’t easy about her.”

Suddenly all his fears and his fatigue and his trouble looked out of his eyes.

“I’m frightened,” he said, “and it’s so unutterably feeble of me.  And I’m tired:  you don’t know how tired, and try as I may I feel that all the time it is no use.  My mother is slipping, slipping away.”

“But, my dear, no wonder you are tired,” she said.  “Michael, can’t anybody help?  It isn’t right you should do everything.”

He shook his head, smiling.

“They can’t help,” he said.  “I’m the only person who can help her.  And I—­”

He stood up, bracing mind and body.

“And I’m so brutally proud of it,” he said.  “She wants me.  Well, that’s a lot for a son to be able to say.  Sylvia, I would give anything to keep her.”

Still he was not thinking of her, and knowing that, she came close to him and put her arm in his.  She longed to give him some feeling of comradeship.  She could be sisterly to him over this without suggesting to him what she could not be to him.  Her instinct had divined right, and she felt the answering pressure of his elbow that acknowledged her sympathy, welcomed it, and thought no more about it.

“You are giving everything to keep her,” she said.  “You are giving yourself.  What further gift is there, Michael?”