Sophy, looking at her "morning face," realised that she was using less rouge than usual, though she always used it with discretion. To-day she was almost pale. This harmonising of her complexion with the circumstance struck Sophy as drearily droll.
A servant knocked at the door to say that Dr. Bellamy had come. They sent word to Nurse Harding, and went down together.
It was still raining.
XXII
After Anne Harding had been twenty-four hours on the case, she came to Sophy, who was writing letters in the library. Just to address the envelope to Charlotte, which she did beforehand, comforted her. How real and home-like looked the familiar names! There was her house of refuge when—if ever—she could escape. But she told nothing of her husband's condition to Charlotte.
"Can we go where it's quite private, Mrs. Chesney?" said Anne Harding. "I've some things I must talk to you about."
Sophy took the nurse up to her bedroom and locked the door.
"What is it?" she asked, fixing her dilated eyes on the shrewd black ones.
"Please don't look so frightened," said Anne kindly. "It's just the usual worries in a case like this. I've talked with Dr. Bellamy already; but I must have your help."