“ I would love some curaçao—” said Gudrun, looking at the sick man confidingly.
“ You would. Well then Thomas, curaçao—and a little cake, or a biscuit?”
“ A biscuit,” said Gudrun. She did not want anything, but she was wise.
“ Yes.”
He waited till she was settled with her little glass and her biscuit. Then he was satisfied.
“ You have heard the plan,” he said with some excitement, “for a studio for Winifred, over the stables?”
“ No!” exclaimed Gudrun, in mock wonder.
“ Oh!—I thought Winnie wrote it to you, in her letter!”
“ Oh—yes—of course. But I thought perhaps it was only her own little idea—” Gudrun smiled subtly, indulgently. The sick man smiled also, elated.
“ Oh no. It is a real project. There is a good room under the roof of the stables—with sloping rafte
