"But how awfully disappointing for you!"
He smiled at that.
"Oh, it's all right," he said cheerfully.
"You'll go another day instead?"
"I hope so." He then explained that, in the nick of time, a brother-in-law of Ramsay's had telegraphed to say that he and his wife were coming immediately to join them. Nothing could be better. The wife was an experienced nurse; the husband was a first-rate climber, a member of the Alpine Club. "Their coming will make it quite easy, I hope, to manage our little expedition," he added. "Pressford is equal to any guide. We'll take you somewhere between us, sooner or later."
"Will you—really—?" in a tone of rapture.
"I'll do my very best to bring it about—I promise you."
After which he spent a full half-hour, listening to the catalogue of Mrs. Brutt's symptoms, which were of such abounding interest for herself, that she could not imagine their having less interest for other people. He could have prescribed for her in five minutes, with ease; but then he would have failed to win her confidence.
She recognised in him the "sinister" individual of Bex; but she promptly dropped that adjective, and substituted "delightful." He was really such a clever young fellow!—so observant!—so thoughtful!— so sympathetic! Such penetration! He had read her whole constitution at a glance-positively at one glance. Mrs. Brutt prided herself on the abnormal complexity of her make, transcending the complexities of less distinguished beings; and she felt that never before had it been so truly perused.
Perhaps this came near the mark. Maurice had penetrating eyes, and he read her in more ways than one. If he took particular pains to ingratiate himself with the widow, it was hardly for her own sake.