"They're rather heavy, sir, for a sick-room. Would you--would you
mind--taking them off?"
"Upon my word, you're a cool one!"
But there was something in the quiet self-possession of the woman which
coerced, while it exasperated him. He perceived plainly that she took him
for a madman to be managed. Yet, after glaring at her for a moment, he
sat down fuming, and removed his boots. She smiled.
"That'll do nicely, sir. Now if you don't mind coming _very_ quietly--"
She glided to the door of the drawing-room, opened it noiselessly and
beckoned to Melrose. He went in, and, against his will, he went on
tiptoe, and holding his breath.
Inside, he looked round the darkened room in angry amazement. It had been
wholly transformed. The open windows had been cleaned and curtained; the
oak floor shone as though it had been recently washed; there was a table
on which were medicine bottles and glasses, with a chair or two; while in
the centre of the room, carefully screened from light, was a white bed.
Upon it, a motionless form.
"Poor young fellow!" whispered the nurse, standing beside Melrose, her
kind face softening. "He has been conscious a little to-day--the doctor
is hopeful. But he has been very badly hurt."
Melrose surveyed him--the interloper!--who represented to him at that
moment one of those unexpected checks and annoyances in life, which
selfish men with strong wills cannot and do not attempt to bear. His
privacy, his habits, his freedom--all at the mercy of this white-faced
boy, these two intolerable women, and the still more intolerable doctor,
on whom he intended to inflect a stinging lesson! No doubt the whole
thing had been done by the wretched pill-man with a view to his own fees.
Pages:
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100