"The lady who made you the jelly—Mrs. Lavers, of course."
"Oh no," said Michael, shrinking down and drawing the bedclothes closer about him, as if he would fain hide himself; "I don't want to see her. I can't have her coming here. Tell her so, please."
"Don't you think that seems rather ungrateful, when she has been so kind to you?" asked the nurse. "Shall I say that you do not feel strong enough to see her to-day, but you hope to do so in a day or two?"
"No, no, no!" cried Michael vehemently. "Say nothing of the kind. I can't see her, I tell you. I can't and I won't, so there!"
"You're a strange man," said the nurse; and she went away, perhaps to repeat the same remark below stairs.
When she came back into the room a little later, Michael's eyes were fixed on her anxiously.
"Has she gone?" he asked.
"Yes, she has gone."
"What did she say?"
"Oh, she was sorry you would not see her, and she asked me to give you this." And the nurse held out to him a little bunch of sweet violets.