"How is he?" the girl inquired courteously.
"Better." Then a sudden note of resentment crept into Carew's honest voice. "He is counting the days now before he can be moved. He says your mother has been wonderfully good to him."
The girl stood aside to let Carew pass her by.
"She is good to everybody," she assented quietly. "I hope Mr. Weldon won't think of going away until he can be moved with perfect safety. It is really no trouble to have him here, and the nurse is very capable."
And Carew bowed in agreement. Once outside the door, however, he freed his mind, tersely and with vigor.
"Damn the nurse!" he said to the oak tree, as he passed it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"There's a true Heart in the West World, that is beating
still for me,
Ever praying in the twilight once again my face to see.
Oh, the World is good and gladsome, with its Love both
East and West,
But there's ever one love only that is still the First and Best."
The low voice died away. A moment later, Ethel Dent pushed open one of the long windows of the drawing-room and stepped out on the veranda. The flower-boxes were filled with limp stalks, chilled by the frost of the previous night; but the sun lay warm over the wide, white steps, over the lawn and over the bay beyond. She stood for a moment, staring thoughtfully out across the bay; then she moved on to the western end of the veranda, looked up at Table Mountain with its cloth of cloud, and then dropped down into one of the chairs which still remained in the sunny corner.