him, and that had the effect of numbing her wits and making her voice sound stumbling and uncertain in her own ears.
Matters she had wished to discuss with him, and which had seemed to her of vital importance, seemed all at once to lose a great deal of their importance while those dispassionate, cool eyes of his surveyed her. She felt young and inexperienced, and even trivial, as if she was an unsatisfactory witness in a court of law being subjected to a scrutiny by the judge—and not quite a human judge, either!
He displayed no concern over his daughter ’ s welfare—no serious concern, that is—but he surrounded her with every care. He was a meticulous and a thorough man, and at least he had not neglected to pursue every avenue that might lead to the child ’ s complete restoration to health. There was one man—an Austrian surgeon with a worldwide reputation— with whom he had been in touch, but whether the contact had yielded anything hopeful she had no idea, for apart from a letter that she herself had written to him a few days ago, warning him that she considered herself now more or less redundant at Ketterings, and to which he had not replied, they had had no contact since their last meeting. But Purvis, while he waited on her at breakfast that morning, had let her know that the master was expected the following day, which would be the fourth Friday in the month since his last visit to the home that saw so little of him.
So perhaps he was waiting until he arrived home to summon her to his presence and discuss the question of her leaving. And in case he made any attempt to persuade her to remain with her patient a little longer, she had quite made up her mind to resist his persuasions, not in her own interests but in the interests of Miranda. For the child was becoming so dependent upon her for companionship that the longer Lucy remained with her, the harder would it be for the small invalid when she did finally take her departure.
From her o w n point of view she knew that she was going to miss Miranda enormously, for in three months she had become really fond of her, and sometimes she was almost agonizingly sorry for her. And the superb comfort of Ketterings, the loveliness of its surroundings and the old-fashioned, never-failing attentiveness of Purvis were things she would never quite forget.
Today, while he served her lunch, he looked, she thought, a little downcast, and when she questioned him as to whether anything was wrong, he gave a sudden sigh and made a rather hopeless movement with his shoulders.
“ Nothing in particular, nurse, only Miss Miranda seems upset because she insists you are going to leave us very soon. Is that true, nurse? ”
“ I ’ m afraid it is, Purvis. But she can do without me now, you know. You, Mrs. Abbott and Fiske are all she needs. Between the three of you I know you ’ ll combine to spoil her and do all that it is possible to do for her nowadays. ”
The old man, who had served another family in this same house, but had never, perhaps, had quite such a fondness for any member of it as he had for his present master ’ s small, golden-haired, helpless wisp of a daughter, poured Lucy ’ s coffee carefully, and then fetched another sigh from the depths of his being.
“ Do you think she ’ ll ever be herself again, nurse? ”
Lucy looked up at him, a smile in the blue eyes he thought rarely attractive.
“ We can but hope she will, Purvis. ”
That night w hile she lay in bed, Lucy heard a car purring its way almost noiselessly up the driveway, and since there was no disturbance of any kind, and the front door opened and closed as soundlessly as the car had glided over the gravel of the driveway, she could only conclude that it was the master of the place who had come home one day earlier than was his normal custom. He had arrived at Ketterings on a Thursday, instead of on a Friday!
In the morning Purvis confirmed that Sir John was home, but Miranda, when Lucy
Matters she had wished to discuss with him, and which had seemed to her of vital importance, seemed all at once to lose a great deal of their importance while those dispassionate, cool eyes of his surveyed her. She felt young and inexperienced, and even trivial, as if she was an unsatisfactory witness in a court of law being subjected to a scrutiny by the judge—and not quite a human judge, either!
He displayed no concern over his daughter ’ s welfare—no serious concern, that is—but he surrounded her with every care. He was a meticulous and a thorough man, and at least he had not neglected to pursue every avenue that might lead to the child ’ s complete restoration to health. There was one man—an Austrian surgeon with a worldwide reputation— with whom he had been in touch, but whether the contact had yielded anything hopeful she had no idea, for apart from a letter that she herself had written to him a few days ago, warning him that she considered herself now more or less redundant at Ketterings, and to which he had not replied, they had had no contact since their last meeting. But Purvis, while he waited on her at breakfast that morning, had let her know that the master was expected the following day, which would be the fourth Friday in the month since his last visit to the home that saw so little of him.
So perhaps he was waiting until he arrived home to summon her to his presence and discuss the question of her leaving. And in case he made any attempt to persuade her to remain with her patient a little longer, she had quite made up her mind to resist his persuasions, not in her own interests but in the interests of Miranda. For the child was becoming so dependent upon her for companionship that the longer Lucy remained with her, the harder would it be for the small invalid when she did finally take her departure.
From her o w n point of view she knew that she was going to miss Miranda enormously, for in three months she had become really fond of her, and sometimes she was almost agonizingly sorry for her. And the superb comfort of Ketterings, the loveliness of its surroundings and the old-fashioned, never-failing attentiveness of Purvis were things she would never quite forget.
Today, while he served her lunch, he looked, she thought, a little downcast, and when she questioned him as to whether anything was wrong, he gave a sudden sigh and made a rather hopeless movement with his shoulders.
“ Nothing in particular, nurse, only Miss Miranda seems upset because she insists you are going to leave us very soon. Is that true, nurse? ”
“ I ’ m afraid it is, Purvis. But she can do without me now, you know. You, Mrs. Abbott and Fiske are all she needs. Between the three of you I know you ’ ll combine to spoil her and do all that it is possible to do for her nowadays. ”
The old man, who had served another family in this same house, but had never, perhaps, had quite such a fondness for any member of it as he had for his present master ’ s small, golden-haired, helpless wisp of a daughter, poured Lucy ’ s coffee carefully, and then fetched another sigh from the depths of his being.
“ Do you think she ’ ll ever be herself again, nurse? ”
Lucy looked up at him, a smile in the blue eyes he thought rarely attractive.
“ We can but hope she will, Purvis. ”
That night w hile she lay in bed, Lucy heard a car purring its way almost noiselessly up the driveway, and since there was no disturbance of any kind, and the front door opened and closed as soundlessly as the car had glided over the gravel of the driveway, she could only conclude that it was the master of the place who had come home one day earlier than was his normal custom. He had arrived at Ketterings on a Thursday, instead of on a Friday!
In the morning Purvis confirmed that Sir John was home, but Miranda, when Lucy