Rather to her surprise, no message came down to her from the invalid's room.She had supposed as a matter of course that Weldon would intuitively recognize the source of the dainties which reached him anonymously.Man-fashion, however, he could see no reason that his beef tea and his wine jelly should be the work of different hands.He devoured them both, and reflected thankfully upon the skill of the Kaffir cook.Mr.Dent had been scrupulously literal in carrying out the commands laid upon him by his daughter.He had left in Weldon's mind no doubt whatsoever about the truth of his statement that Mrs.Dent alone had been responsible for the invalid's present quarters.Weldon had lavished thanks upon Mrs.
Dent, and she had received them without demur, as her own lawful property.Even now, he was at a loss whether his recovery was more owing to Mrs.Dent or to the nurse.Each had given to him a large share of her vitality.
From a distance, he could follow Ethel's doings, could assure himself that his presence was no apparent check upon her happiness.
Now it was the muffled whirr of the bell, followed by low voices from the room beneath.Now it was the roll of the carriage, bearing her away to dine or to dance, and leaving Weldon to lie and count the minutes until she returned.Now it was her light footstep on the stairs, or, but this was only at long intervals, her hushed voice in the hallway outside his door.At first, he used to lie and hold his breath, while he waited for her to open the door of his room.By degrees, however, he ceased to expect her.And, as the expectation died away, he chafed increasingly at the slowness of his recovery.
Anything to get out of that house! She treated him as he would have scorned to treat an invalid dog who had taken refuge in his stable.
All this came slowly.For two endless weeks, Weldon lay unconscious.
For two more endless weeks, he raved in delirium.Happily, his nurse was a discreet woman.She discouraged the visits of Mrs.Dent and her husband, offered the excuse that strange faces excited the invalid, and only admitted them during his brief intervals of sleep.
Meanwhile, she used all her professional principles to keep herself from trying to solve the problem before her eyes.Upstairs was a man sick unto death, a man who raved ceaselessly of the daughter of the house.Downstairs, the daughter of the house was going her accustomed way, with never a question in regard to the man above.
What had happened? How, if anything had happened, how did he chance to be in that home, with Mrs.Dent as his devoted and anxious slave?
Resolutely, she fell to studying her temperature charts.Her specialty was fever, not heart disease.
A week after the tide had turned, Carew had been allowed to spend a short half-hour with the invalid.The next day, by advice of the nurse, Mr.Dent telephoned to him to come again.Something, whether in his personality or in his talk, had been of tonic power over Weldon.It seemed wise to repeat the experiment.
Carew came on the heels of his own voice through the telephone; and his face was smiling broadly, as he went leaping up the stairs.
