"Why, 'Dear,' of course," she answered and dropped her scissors in surprise.
"What's my name?" he continued, fencing for time.
"Just 'Boy,'" she said with sweet, contented positiveness.
The Young Doctor shivered and got up and started to leave the room, but at the threshold he stopped resolutely and came back and sat down again.
This time he took his Mother's wedding ring from his little finger and twirled it with apparent aimlessness in his hands.
Its glint caught the Sick-A-Bed Lady's eye, and she took it daintily in her fingers and examined it carefully. Then, as though it recalled some vague memory, she crinkled up her forehead and started to get out of bed. The Young Doctor watched her with agonized interest. She went direct to her bureau and began to search diligently through all the drawers, but when she reached the lower drawer and found some bright-colored ribbons she forgot her original quest, whatever it was, and brought all the ribbons back to bed with her.
The Young Doctor started to leave her again, this time with a little gesture which she took to be anger, but he had not gone further than the head of the stairs before she called him back in a voice that was startlingly mature and reasonable.
"Oh, Boy, come back," she cried. "I'll be good. What do you want?"
The Young Doctor came doubtfully.
"Do you understand me to-day?" he asked in a voice that sent an ominous chill to her heart. "Can you think pretty clearly to-day?"