Frances Freeland, in the window, wasted no thoughts, but began to run over in her mind the exact operations necessary to defeat this illness of darling Derek’s.  Her fingers continually locked and interlocked themselves with fresh determinations; her eyes, fixed on imaginary foods, methods of washing, and ways of keeping him quiet, had an almost fanatical intensity.  Like a good general she marshalled her means of attack and fixed them in perfect order.  Now and then she gazed into her bag, making quite sure that she had everything, and nothing that was new-fangled or liable to go wrong.  For into action she never brought any of those patent novelties that delighted her soul in times of peace.  For example, when she herself had pneumonia and no doctor, for two months, it was well known that she had lain on her back, free from every kind of remedy, employing only courage, nature, and beef tea, or some such simple sustenance.

Having now made her mental dispositions, she got up without sound and slipped off a petticoat that she suspected of having rustled a little when she came in; folding and popping it where it could not be suspected any more, she removed her shoes and put on very old velvet slippers.  She walked in these toward the bed, listening to find out whether she could hear herself, without success.  Then, standing where she could see when his eyes opened, she began to take stock.  That pillow wasn’t very comfortable!  A little table was wanted on both sides, instead of on one.  There was no odorator, and she did not see one of those arrangements!  All these things would have to be remedied.

Absorbed in this reconnoitring, she failed to observe that darling Derek was looking at her through eyelashes that were always so nice and black.  He said suddenly, in that faint and cheerful voice: 

“All right, Granny; I’m going to get up to-morrow.”

Frances Freeland, whose principle it was that people should always be encouraged to believe themselves better than they were, answered.  “Yes, darling, of course; you’ll be up in no time.  It’ll be delightful to see you in a chair to-morrow.  But you mustn’t talk.”

Derek sighed, closed his eyes, and went off into a faint.

It was in moments such as these that Frances Freeland was herself.  Her face flushed a little and grew terribly determined.  Conscious that she was absolutely alone in the house, she ran to her bag, took out her sal volatile, applied it vigorously to his nose, and poured a little between his lips.  She did other things to him, and not until she had brought him round, and the best of it was already made, did she even say to herself:  ‘It’s no use fussing; I must make the best of it.’

Then, having discovered that he felt quite comfortable—­as he said—­she sat down in a chair to fan him and tremble vigorously.  She would not have allowed that movement of her limbs if it had in any way interfered with the fanning.  But since, on the contrary, it seemed to be of assistance, she certainly felt it a relief; for, whatever age her spirit might be, her body was seventy-three.