_"This_ pump is out of order; and I'm the carpenter.

Give me time, and I'll set it right again.

You're not a bit like your mother." Watching eagerly for the slightest signs of recovery in Ovid's face, Carmina detected a faint return of colour.

She was so relieved that she was able to listen to the doctor's oddly discursive talk, and even to join in it.

"Some of our friends used to think I was like my father," she answered.
"Did they ?" said Benjulia--and shut his thin-lipped mouth as if he was determined to drop the subject for ever.
Ovid stirred feebly, and half opened his eyes.
Benjulia got up.