"She's a good girl--I mean, a girl with religion? I don't believe in your modern young lady who strums waltzes on the piano instead of going to church!"
"Nor do I," said Koko. "Yes," he added, "she's a good girl. She's been looking after the poor flower-seller who saved Jim's face from the Hooligan's boot."
"And so,"--the Doctor slackened his pace still more,--"and so, if we manage to pull Jim round and make him as strong a man as he ever was, you think this girl will marry him?"
"I'm sure of it," said Koko.
"And you're sure this is no passing fancy of Jim's? You think he will want to marry her?"
"I'd stake my life on it," cried Koko.
"Then," said the Doctor, "the very best medicine the boy can have is a daily visit from Miss--er----"
"Dora," supplied Koko.
"From Miss Dora Maybury," added the Doctor, emphatically. "Very good. I'll take the responsibility of the matter on my own shoulders. He shall see her."
Jim was staring at that abominable wall-paper pattern without coming to any decision about the number of times it was repeated over the window. For in every leaf he saw Dora's face--and very soon he would see Dora herself, for he knew now that she hadn't married Jefferson, and that she was coming to tea with him this very day. It was to be, in fact, quite a tea-party--a small one, and a very select one. The little Scottish nurse, who was all-powerful in the sick-room--and had made this fact very clear to everybody by this time--would act as hostess, and the guests would be strictly limited to Jim's grandfather, Koko, and Dora. It would not do, said the nurse, firmly to have too many people to tea, and the party must only last half an hour at the outside. Another day she would invite Mr and Mrs Maybury, Miss Bird and Frank--but they must not come to-day; it would be too many for the little room.