The appearance in the Martin apartment of the trained nurse, who was an
old friend and hospital associate of Mrs. Beswick's, relieved Phillida
of night service; but nothing could relieve her sense of partial
responsibility for the delay in calling a doctor, and her resolution to
stay by little Tommy as much as possible until the issue should be
known. Every day while the nurse rested she took her place with the
patient, holding him in her arms for long hours at a time, and every day
Millard called to make inquiries. He was not only troubled about the
little boy, but there hung over him a dread of imminent calamity to
Phillida. On the fifth day the symptoms in Tommy's case became more
serious, but at the close of the sixth Dr. Beswick expressed himself as
hopeful. The next evening, when Millard called, he learned that Tommy
was improving slowly, and that Miss Callender had not come to the
Martins' on that day. His aunt thought that she was probably tired out,
and that she had taken advantage of Tommy's improvement to rest. But
when had Phillida been known to rest when anybody within her range was
suffering? Millard felt sure that she would at least have come to learn
the condition of the sick boy had she been able.
He hesitated to make inquiry after Phillida's health. Her effort to
avoid conversation with him assured him that she preferred not to
encourage a new intimacy. But though he debated, he did not delay going
straight to the Callenders' and ringing the bell.
Agatha came to the door.
"Good-evening, Miss Agatha," he said, presuming so much on his old
friendship as to use her first name.
"Good-evening, Mr. Millard," said Agatha, in an embarrassed but austere
voice.
"I called to inquire after your sister. Knowing that she had been
exposed to diphtheria, I was afraid--" He paused here, remembering that
he no longer had any right to be afraid on her account.
Agatha did not wait for him to re-shape or complete his sentence. She
said, "Thank you. She has a sore throat, which makes us very uneasy.
Cousin Philip has just gone to see if he can get Dr. Gunstone."
When Millard had gone, Agatha told her mother that Charley had called.
"I am glad of it," said Mrs. Callender. "Did you ask him in?"
"Not I," said Agatha, with a high head. "If he wants to renew his
acquaintance with Phillida, he can do it without our asking him. I was
just as stiff as I could be with him, and I told him that Cousin Phil
had gone for the doctor. That'll be a thorn in his side, for he always
was a little jealous of Philip, I believe."
"Why, Agatha, I'm afraid you haven't done right. You oughtn't to be so
severe. For my part, I hope the engagement will be renewed. I am sick
and tired of having Phillida risk her life in the tenements. It was very
kind of Mr. Millard to call and inquire, I am sure."
"He ought to," said Agatha. "She got this dreadful disease taking care
of his relations. I don't want him to think we're dying to have him take
Phillida off our hands." Agatha's temper was ruffled by her anxiety at
Phillida's sickness. "I'm sure his high and mighty tone about Phillida's
faith-cures has worried her enough. Now just let him worry awhile."
Certainly, Agatha Callender's bearing toward him did not reassure
Millard. He thought she might have called him Charley; or if that was
not just the thing to do, she might have made her voice a little less
frosty. He could not get rid of a certain self-condemnation regarding
Phillida, and he conjectured that her family were disposed to condemn
him also. He thought they ought to consider how severely his patience
had been tried; but then they could not know how Phillida was talked
about. How could they ever imagine Meadows's brutal impertinence?
He was not clear regarding the nature of the change in Phillida's views.
Had she wholly renounced her faith-healing, or was she only opposed to
the Christian Science imposture? Or did she think that medicine should
be called in after an appeal to Heaven had failed? If he had felt that
there was any probability of a renewal of his engagement with Phillida,
he could have wished that she might not yet have given up her career as
a faith-doctor. He would then have a chance to prove to her that he was
not too cowardly to endure reproach for her sake. But, from the way
Agatha spoke, it must be that Philip Gouverneur was now in favor rather
than he. Nothing had been more evident to him than that Philip was in
love with his cousin. What was to be expected but that Philip, with the
advantage of cousinly intimacy, should urge his suit, once Phillida was
free from her engagement?
But all his other anxieties were swallowed up in the one fear that she
who had ventured her life for others so bravely might have sacrificed
it. Millard was uneasy the night long, and before he went to the bank he
called again at the Callender house. He was glad that it was Sarah, and
not Agatha, who came to the door. He sent in a card to Mrs. Callender
with the words, "Kind inquiries," written on it, and received through
Sarah the reply that Mrs. Callender was much obliged to him for
inquiring, and that Miss Callender had diphtheria and was not so well as
yesterday.
The cashier of the Bank of Manhadoes was not happy that day. He threw
himself into his business with an energy that seemed feverish. He did
not feel that it would be proper for him to call again before the next
morning; it would seem like trying to take advantage of Phillida's
illness. But, with such a life in jeopardy, how could his impatience
delay till morning?
Just before three o'clock the Hilbrough carriage stopped at the bank.
Mrs. Hilbrough had come to take up her husband for a drive. Hilbrough
was engaged with some one in the inner office, which he had occupied
since Masters had virtually retired from the bank. Millard saw the
carriage from his window, and, with more than his usual gallantry,
quitted his desk to assist Mrs. Hilbrough to alight. But she declined to
come in; she would wait in the carriage for Mr. Hilbrough.
"Did you know of Miss Callender's illness?" he asked.
"No; is it anything serious?" Mrs. Hilbrough showed a sincere
solicitude.
"Diphtheria," he said. "I called there this morning. Mrs. Callender sent
word that Phillida was not so well as yesterday."
Mrs. Hilbrough was pleased that Millard had gone so far as to inquire.
She reflected that an illness, if not a dangerous one, might be a good
thing for lovers situated as these two. But diphtheria was another
matter.
"I wish I knew how she's getting along this afternoon," said Mrs.
Hilbrough.
"I would call again at once," said Millard, "but, you know, my relations
are peculiar. To call twice in a day might seem intrusive."
"I would drive there at once," said Mrs. Hilbrough, meditatively, "but
Mr. Hilbrough is so wrapped up in his children, and so much afraid of
their getting diphtheria, that he will not venture into the street where
it is. If I should send the footman, Mr. Hilbrough would not let him
return to the house again. I'm afraid he would not even approve of
communication by a telegraph-boy."
"A boy would be long enough returning to be disinfected," said Millard;
but the pleasantry was all in his words; his face showed solicitude and
disappointment. He could think of no one but Mrs. Hilbrough through whom
he could inquire.
"Perhaps," he said, "you would not object to my sending an inquiry in
your name?"
"Oh, certainly not; that would be a good plan, especially if you will
take the trouble to let me know how she is. Use my name at your
discretion, Mr. Millard. I give you _carte blanche_," said she, smiling
with pleasure at the very notion of bearing so intimate a relation to a
clever scheme which lent a little romance to a love-affair highly
interesting to her on all accounts. She took out a visiting-card and
penciled the words, "Hoping that Miss Callender is not very ill, and
begging Mrs. Callender to let her know." This she handed to Millard.
Mr. Hilbrough came out at that moment, and Millard bowed to Mrs.
Hilbrough and went in. Hilbrough had been as deeply grieved as his wife
to hear that the much-admired Phillida was ill.
"What are you going to do, my dear?" he said. "You can not go there
without risking the children. You can't send James without danger of
bringing the infection into the house. But we mustn't leave Phillida
without some attentions; I don't see how to manage it."
"I've just made Mr. Millard my deputy," said Mrs. Hilbrough. "You see,
he feels delicate about inquiring too often; so I have written inquiries
on one of my cards and given it to Mr. Millard."
Hilbrough didn't like to do things in a stinted way, particularly in
cases which involved his generous feelings.
"Give me a lot of your cards," he said.
"What for?"
"For Mr. Millard."
"I don't see what use he can make of them," said Mrs. Hilbrough, slowly
opening her card-case.
"He'll know," said Hilbrough. "He can work a visiting-card in more ways
than any other man in New York." Hilbrough took half a dozen of his
wife's cards and carried them into the bank.
"Use these as you see fit," he said to Millard, "and if you need a dozen
or two more let me know."
Under other circumstances Millard would have been amused, this liberal
overdoing was so characteristic of Hilbrough. But he only took the cards
with thanks, reflecting that there might be some opportunity to use
them.
As he would be detained at the bank until near four o'clock, his first
impulse was to call a district messenger and dispatch Mrs. Hilbrough's
card of inquiry at once. But he reflected that the illness might be a
long one, and that his measures should be taken with reference to his
future conduct. On his way home from the bank he settled the manner of
his procedure. The Callender family, outside of Phillida at most, did
not know his man Robert. By sending the discreet Robert systematically
with messages in Mrs. Hilbrough's name, those who attended the door
would come to regard him as the Hilbrough messenger.
It was about five o'clock when Robert, under careful instructions,
presented Mrs. Hilbrough's card at the Callender door. Unfortunately for
Millard's plan, Mrs. Callender, despite Robert's hint that a verbal
message would be sufficient, wrote her reply. When the note came into
Millard's hands he did not know what to do. His commission did not
extend to opening a missive addressed to Mrs. Hilbrough. The first
impulse was to dispatch Robert with the note to Mrs. Hilbrough. Then
Millard remembered Mr. Hilbrough's apprehension of diphtheria, and that
Robert had come from the infected house. He would send Mrs. Callender's
note by a messenger. But, on second thought, the note would be a more
deadly missile in Hilbrough's eyes than Robert, who had not gone beyond
the vestibule of the Callender house. He therefore sent a note by a
messenger, stating the case, and received in return permission to open
all letters addressed to Mrs. Hilbrough which his man might bring away
from the Callenders'. This scheme, by which Millard personated Mrs.
Hilbrough, had so much the air of a romantic intrigue of the harmless
variety that it fascinated Mrs. Hilbrough, who dearly loved a manoeuver,
and who would have given Millard permission to forge her name and seal
his notes of inquiry with the recently discovered Hilbrough
coat-of-arms, if such extreme measures had been necessary. Mrs.
Callender's reply stated that Dr. Gunstone was hopeful, but that
Phillida seemed pretty ill.
The next morning Millard's card with "Kind inquiries" was sent in, and
the reply was returned that Phillida was no worse. Her mother showed her
the card, and Phillida looked at it for half a minute and then wearily
put it away. An hour later Robert appeared at the door with a bunch of
callas, to which Mrs. Hilbrough's card was attached.
"Oh! see, Philly," said Agatha softly, "Mrs. Hilbrough has sent you some
flowers."
Phillida reached her hand and touched them, gazed at them a moment, and
then turned her head away, and began to weep.
"What is the matter, Philly? What are you crying about?" said her
mother, with solicitation.
"The flowers make me want to die."
"Why, how can the flowers trouble you?"
"They are just like what Charley used to send me. They remind me that
there is nothing more for me but to die and have done with the world."
The flowers were put out of her sight; but Phillida's mind had fastened
itself on those other callas whose mute appeal for Charley Millard, at
the crisis of her history, had so deeply moved her, though her perverse
conscience would not let her respond to it.