With an audible imprecation he stalked back into the sick- room and threw himself down into the first chair he could reach.
"Oh, drat you women!" he grinned sheepishly. "Well, go ahead! One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten!"
As automatically almost as a mechanical doll the Sick Woman opened her eyes.
"Oh, all right!" she smiled. "Now I will tell you the wish. But first I must tell you that the thing I hate most in the world is an empty twilight. And the thing I love best is a crowded shop. Oh, the joy of shopping!" she quickened. "The fun, the fury of it! Buy, buy, buy, while the light lasts and the money shines! But as for the empty twilight?" she wilted again. "I wish—" her voice caught suddenly, "I wish that the last mail of the day may never leave me utterly letterless. And that I may always be expecting a package by express!"
"Do you really mean it?" asked the Young 11Doctor without the slightest trace of perturbance.
"Why, of course I mean it!" smiled the woman. "But do you dream for a moment that you can guarantee that?"
"I can at least prescribe it," said the Young Doctor.
"You have more subtlety than I thought," drawled the woman.
"You have more simplicity than I had dared to hope," bowed the Young Doctor.
Again, in shrewd half-mocking appraisement, the two measured each other.