"Flower! How are you to be ready at 2 sharp, when here it is 1.45 and you in that flimsy teagown?"
"My dear, I am not going. It is always wisest to adhere to first plans. I should love to go, but I could not possibly be ready now, and I cannot feel it right to leave the children when nurse—"
The door opened quickly and the doctor came in.
"Dearest," cried Flower, "Lunch after all? If only I had known you were coming I would have saved a wing—"
"No," said the doctor, brightly, "no time for lunch to-day, and I hardly ought to have come upstairs. I have one more patient to see, and my hansom is at the door. But I wanted to say good-bye, dear, and also to say—" he dropped his voice slightly—"don't worry about not having been able to come. It was selfish of me to ask it of you, Flower. And then I remembered, too, Jeanette was going home to-day, so I ran up to bid her good-bye, a longer farewell than ours."
He went round the table and held out his hand to the baby's godmother.
"Good-bye, Jeanette. My love to all at home. Look us up again when you can. And thank you for all your loving-kindness to me and mine."
The baby's godmother rose, and her hand went firmly home to his. Their eyes were almost on a level as they stood together.
"Good-bye, Boy," she said. "Don't overwork. Rest whenever possible. And remember, you and yours are always dear to me. Let me do all I can."
A half-puzzled, half-pleased look leaped into his eyes at sound of the old name. It was many years since she had used it. He held her hand and looked at her with steady scrutiny for a moment. She met his gaze full and clear. She had nothing to hide.