“I don’t cotton to Mrs. North myself,” she answered. “She’s a woman who overprices herself. But she’s a mother, and Miss Seer could do no less than take her in. You might take down some of these best Musk Cat grapes after tea, ’Erb. P’raps Mrs. Riversley could fancy ’em.”
Everyone indeed was very kind, but with the exception of Lady Condor and Mr. Fothersley, Ruth kept visitors away from Mrs. North.
Fred Riversley had astonished everyone by turning out a wonderful nurse, and what little rest Violet had was in his strong arms, nursed like a child. She seemed nothing more, and in her delirium had gone back to the days of her childhood and talked of little else, and more and more happily as the time went by.
“One might as well try to keep a snow wreath,” he said one afternoon to Ruth, who was giving him tea after his usual tramp round the fields for some fresh air and exercise.
Even as he spoke there was a little bustle and scurry outside the door, and before it opened Riversley was on his feet and moving towards it.
Mrs. North stood there, half laughing, half crying. “Oh, she is better!” she cried. “She has gone into a real sleep. Nurse says we may hope. She will get well.”
She dropped on to her knees by the fire and buried her face against the cushions of the sofa, sobbing and crying, while Riversley tore across the hall and up the stairs two steps at a time.
It was early on the following morning that Violet Riversley opened her eyes and looked at her husband with recognition in them.
“Dear old Freddy,” she said weakly. “What’s the matter?”