"You do? And are they published?"
"Oh, yes, but perhaps not on their merits. You see, my father has influence—"
"A journalist, is he, perhaps?"
She laughed at the idea, and mentioned the name of a well-known novelist.
"And you prefer nursing to writing!" Richard ejaculated when he had recovered from the announcement.
"To anything in the world. That is why I am a nurse. Why should I depend on my father, or my father's reputation?"
"I admire you for not doing so," Richard replied. Hitherto he had only read about such women, and had questioned if they really existed. He grew humble before her, recognising a stronger spirit. Yet her self-reliance somehow chafed him, and he directed his thoughts to Adeline's feminine trustfulness with a slight sense of relief.
The funeral took place on Sunday. Richard found the formalities to be fewer and simpler than he had expected, and no difficulties arose of any kind. Mrs. Hopkins, as Adeline had foreseen, was unable to come, but she sent a long letter full of advice, and offering her niece a temporary home. Adeline had not yet been allowed to leave her bed, but on the Sunday morning the nurse had said that she might sit up for an hour or two in the afternoon, and would like to see Richard then.
He returned to Carteret Street on foot when the funeral was over.