Phyllis Gedge sent me a few bunches of violets with a shy little note.

Lady Fenimore wrote me an affectionate letter bidding me farewell.

They were going to Bude in Cornwall, Anthony having put himself under Dr.Cliffe's orders like a wonderful lamb.

When she came back, she hoped that her two sick men would be restored to health and able to look more favourably upon her projected dinner party.

Marigold also brought into my bedroom a precious old Waterford claret jug which I had loved and secretly coveted for twenty years, with a card attached bearing the inscription "With love from Anthony." That was his dumb, British way of informing me that he was taking my advice.
When my self-respect would allow me no longer to remain in bed, I got up; but I still shrank from publishing the news of my recovery, in which reluctance I met with the hearty encouragement both of Cliffe and Marigold.