“If I only thought——” he checked himself. “No,” he said decidedly; “for
a time at least I believe it is not wise.”
I did not argue with him. There was nothing to be gained by antagonizing
him. And as Mrs. Reed came in just then, the subject was dropped. She
was hardly more than a girl, almost as blond as her husband, very
pretty, and with the weariest eyes I have ever seen, unless perhaps the
eyes of a man who has waited a long time for deathly tuberculosis.
I liked her at once. She did not attempt to smile. She rather clung to
my hand when I held it out.
“I am glad St. Luke’s still trusts us,” she said. “I was afraid the
other nurse—— Frank, will you take Miss Adams’ suitcase upstairs?”
She held out a key. He took it, but he turned at the door:
“I wish you wouldn’t wear those things, Anne. You gave me your promise
yesterday, you remember.”
“I can’t work round the children in anything else,” she protested.
“Those things” were charming. She wore a rose silk negligee trimmed with
soft bands of lace and blue satin flowers, a petticoat to match that
garment, and a lace cap.
He hesitated in the doorway and looked at her—a curious glance, I
thought, full of tenderness, reproof—apprehension perhaps.
“I’ll take it off, dear,” she replied to the glance. “I wanted Miss
Adams to know that, even if we haven’t a servant in the house, we are at
least civilized. I—I haven’t taken cold.” This last was clearly an
afterthought.
He went out then and left us together. She came over to me swiftly.
“What did the other nurse say?” she demanded.
“I do not know her at all. I have not seen her.”
“Didn’t she report at the hospital that we were—queer?”