The nurse suggested that Richard should remain at Carteret Street for the rest of the night, using the sofa in the sitting-room¹. Contrary to his expectation, he slept well and dreamlessly for several hours, and woke up refreshed and energetic. The summer sun was dispersing² a light mist. One thought occupied his mind,—Adeline's isolation³ and need of succour. Mentally he enveloped⁴ her with tender solicitude⁵; and the prospect⁶ of giving her instant aid, and so earning her gratitude⁷, contributed to a mood of vigorous cheerfulness to which his sorrow for Mr. Aked's death formed but a vague and distant background.  
No one seemed to be stirring. He washed luxuriously⁸ in the little scullery, and then, silently unbolting the front door, went out for a walk. It was just six o'clock, and above the weazen trees which line either side of Carteret Street the sparrows were noisily hilarious⁹. As he strode along in the fresh, sunny air, his fancy pictured scene after scene between himself and Adeline in which he rendered a man's help and she offered a woman's gratitude. He determined¹⁰ to take upon himself all the arrangements for the funeral, and looked forward pleasurably to activities from which under different circumstances he would have shrunk with dismay. He thought of Adeline's aunt or cousin, distant in the north, and wondered whether she or any other relatives, if such existed, would present themselves; he hoped that Adeline might be forced to rely solely¹¹ on him. A milkboy who passed with his rattling¹² cans observed Richard talking rapidly to no visible person, and turned round to stare.
 
When he got back to the house, he noticed that the blinds had been drawn¹⁴ in the sitting-room. Lottie, the chubby-armed servant, was cleaning the step; her eyes were red with crying.
 
"Is nurse up yet?" he asked her.
 
"Yes, sir, she's in the kitchen," the girl whimpered.
 
He sprang over the wet step into the passage. As his glance fell on the stairs leading up to the room where lay the body of Mr. Aked, separated from the unconscious Adeline only by a gimcrack wall of lath and plaster, an uncomfortable feeling of awe¹⁵ took hold of him. Death was very incurable¹⁶, and he had been assisting at a tragedy. How unreal and distorted seemed the events of a few hours before! He had a curious sense of partnership¹⁷ in shame, as if he and the nurse and the doctor had last night done Adeline an injury and were conspiring¹⁸ to hide their sin. What would she say when she knew that her uncle was dead? What would be her plans? It occurred to him now that she would of course act quite independently of himself; it was ridiculous to suppose that he, comparatively a stranger, could stand to her in the place of kith and kin¹³; he had been dreaming. He was miserably¹⁹ disheartened.
 
He made his way to the kitchen, and, pushing the door open quietly, found the nurse engaged in cooking a meal.
 
"May I come in, nurse?"
 
"Yes, Mr. Larch²⁰."
 
"You seem to have taken charge of the house," he said, admiring her quick, neat movements; she was as much at home as if the kitchen had been her own.
 
"We often find it necessary," she smiled. "Nurses have to be ready for most things. Do you prefer tea or coffee for breakfast?"
 
"Surely you aren't getting breakfast for me? I could have had something in town."
 
"Surely I am," she said. "If you aren't fastidious, I'll make tea. Miss Aked has had a moderately good night ... I've told her.... She took it very well, said she expected it. Of course there's a lot to be done, but I can't bother her yet. We ought to have a telegram from Mrs. Hopkins, her aunt, this morning."
 
"I wish you would give Miss Aked a message from me," Richard broke in. "Tell her I shall be very glad to see after things—the funeral, you know, and so on—if she cares. I can easily arrange to take a holiday from the office."
 
"I am sure that would relieve her from a lot of anxiety," the nurse said appreciatively. To hide a certain confusion Richard suggested that he should be allowed to lay the cloth in the sitting-room, and she told him he would find it in a drawer in the sideboard. He wandered off, speculating upon Adeline's probable answer to his proposal. Soon he heard the rattling of cups and saucers, and the nurse's footstep on the stair. He laid the cloth, putting the cruet in the middle and the salt-cellars at opposite corners, and then sat down in front of the case of French books to scan their titles, but he saw nothing save a blur²¹ of yellow. After a long time the nurse came down again.
 
"Miss Aked says she cannot thank you enough. She will leave everything to you,—everything. She is very much obliged indeed. She doesn't think Mrs. Hopkins will be able to travel, because of her rheumatism²², and there is no one else. Here is the key of Mr. Aked's desk, and some other keys—there should be about £20 in gold in the cash box, and perhaps some notes."
 
He took the keys, feeling profoundly happy.
 
"I shall just go up to the office first," he decided²³, "and arrange to get off, and then come down here again. I suppose you will stay on till Miss Aked is better?"
 
"Oh, of course."
 
"She will be in bed several days yet?"
 
"Probably. She might be able to sit up an hour or two the day after to-morrow—in her own room."
 
"It wouldn't do for me to see her?"
 
"I think not. She is very weak. No, you must act on your own responsibility."
 
He and the nurse had breakfast together, talking with the freedom of old friends. He told her all he knew of the Akeds, not forgetting to mention that Mr. Aked and himself were to have collaborated²⁴ in a book. When Richard let this out, she showed none of those signs of timid reverence²⁵ which the laity²⁶ are wont²⁷ to exhibit in the presence of literary people.
 
"Indeed!" she said politely, and then after a little pause: "I actually write verses myself sometimes."
 
 
"You do? And are they published?"
 
"Oh, yes, but perhaps not on their merits. You see, my father has influence—"
 
"A journalist, is he, perhaps?"
 
She laughed at the idea, and mentioned the name of a well-known novelist.
 
"And you prefer nursing to writin............