"And the longer I lie here, Rose, the happier you'll be?"
"Yes. But I want you to get well, too, sir."
"Because you're so unselfish."
"Oh no. There isn't anybody selfisher than me."
"I suppose," said Tanqueray, "that's why I don't get well."
Rose had a whole afternoon to spare that day. She spent it turning out his drawers and finding all the things there were to mend there. She was sitting by his bed when, looking up from her mending, she saw his eyes fixed on her.
"I don't irritate you, sittin' here, do I, sir?"
"Irritate me? What do you think I'm made of?"
Rose meditated for the fraction of a second.
"Brains, sir," said she.