The chauffeur returned to his car, standing immovable, and the master of
the car waited on the steps.... There had been a dozen things to do.
Aunt Jane had insisted on his seeing Mrs. Pelton, and there had been
delays. And at the last minute, Aunt Jane had disappeared in her office
for something. He turned toward the door.
She was coming.
The door opened and Aunt Jane stood in it, smiling and competent--in her
cap.
He flashed a look at it. "You're not coming?" It was disappointed and
vexed.
"Yes, I'm coming." Her face was pleased.
"You've forgotten your bonnet," he laughed.
"Oh--I don't need a bonnet." She went slowly down the steps. "I never
wear a bonnet when I go with a patient." She looked back to him. "You
want me to help you?"
He came quickly down with a laugh and placed her in the car. "I don't
want anything--except to get home!" he said exultantly.
The chauffeur slammed the door.
Aunt Jane beamed on her patient. "I thought you'd be ready to go--when
the time came," she said philosophically.
"I'm happy. I don't want anything but what I've got--right here!" He was
looking at the face in its cap.
Aunt Jane transferred her gaze to the window, watching the houses slide
by, and the long, smooth roll of streets. "I do like a car!" she
declared with a sigh. "I always feel as if I owned the whole earth when
I go in a car--kind of on top, you know!"
And the car bore her onward without a jolt or jar, as she sat
competently erect; and Herman Medfield, leaning back against the
cushions, relaxed to the motion, and watched her pleasure, happily....
There were many things he could give her. He was glad he was a rich man.
The car flashed them through the maze of streets and in through the
great gate that formed the entrance to the Medfield estate; and Aunt
Jane looked out, with pleased eyes, on trees and shrubs and on a wide
soft greenness of turf, and little open vistas shining out as they
passed them. "I always heard it was a nice place!" she said contentedly.
"I knew you would like it!" replied Medfield.
Aunt Jane turned her glance on him. "Anybody would be pretty hard to
please that didn't like this," she said simply and returned to her
window.
He smiled a contented, thoughtful smile.
"Here we are! Home at last--!" He held up a hand to her as she stepped
out. "It has been a long time!" He was looking toward the entrance.
"Yes-- You've been away a good while." She moved tranquilly beside him,
up the low steps into the hall. "Now, I'll make you comfortable." She
was looking about her. "And then I must go back. We'd better tell the
man to wait--" she turned toward the door.
"We'll call him up," said Medfield quickly. "He's gone-- And I want to
give you tea and show you my rose-garden--we'll have tea out there----"
"If it isn't too damp," said Aunt Jane.
"What do I care!" He was impatient.
"Dr. Carmon said you'd have to be careful." She spoke the name with
authority and a look of vexation crossed Medfield's face.
"Bother! Well--I shall be careful! You won't let me do anything rash!"
"No, I'll try not to--you don't think you'd better go to bed, do you?"
"I do not!"
And he took the situation into his own hands and showed Aunt Jane
through the house; and she admired it all, and liked the flowers growing
in little pots in the drawing-room windows.
"This would be a good place to have your tea," she remarked.
"We are going outdoors," he said obstinately--and there was a long, low
rumble somewhere-- "What's that?" He had started.
"Sounds like thunder," said Aunt Jane. She moved over to the window.
"Yes--looks as if we were going to have a shower--a hard one. I thought
I felt like it." She sat down placidly.
Lightning played through the room, with fantastic touches on the chairs
and tables and on the little growing plants in the windows.
"I guess we'll have tea indoors." She beamed on him.
He laughed out with vexation and rang the bell and ordered tea and had a
fire made on the great open hearth. He drew up a chair before it for
Aunt Jane and made her comfortable.
There was nothing of the invalid in the slim, quick-moving, aristocratic
figure. He was playing the host with happy face.
"I declare--you look real well!" said Aunt Jane, watching him.
"Oh, I'm well--I'm happy!" he replied.
Something in the voice arrested her, and she turned away.
"I wouldn't be too happy--not the first day or so," she said softly.
"Do you mean to spoil it?" He came and stood by the fire and looked down
at her sternly.
"No--I shan't spoil anything--" A crash of thunder filled the air, and
the room grew dark. Little sulphurous lights played in it--and withdrew,
dancing across the potted plants.
"Here's your tea!" said Aunt Jane out of the subsiding din.
"Put it here, Henry." Medfield rolled a little table in front of Aunt
Jane and watched the man as he set it down. He ran an eye over the
tray----
"That's all right. I'll set it out. You draw the curtains and light the
candles."
He motioned the man aside and arranged the dishes himself, setting the
toast in front of the fire and placing the cups and plates with swift
touch.
"There you are!" He had taken the chair opposite her and he looked
across with happy eyes. "This is all right!" he said.
The man had left the room; the crashing thunder was shut behind the
heavy curtains, the candles shone down on them, and the firelight played
across the table. It shone on Aunt Jane's face.
"You have a nice home," she said safely. She lifted a napkin from her
plate.
"Mercy--what's this!" She peered at the thin blue strip of paper that
fluttered from under the napkin. She took it up and read it--and laid it
down hastily. "It's for the wing!" she said.