As, angelically smiling, she walked round the bed to his side and stood close to him, a veil fell from his eyes, and for the first time he saw her, not as a charwoman turned servant, but as a girl charged with energetic life; and her benevolence had rendered her beautiful. He envied her healthy vigour. He relied on it. The moment was delicious in the silent and curst house.
"I'll try," he said pleasantly, raising his body up and gazing at her.
"Why!" she exclaimed. "If you haven't been making your bed!"
No disapproval in her voice. No warning as to the evil consequences of this mad escapade of making his bed.
"Any more letters?" he inquired, after he had swallowed a mouthful.
"I believe there was one," she answered vivaciously. "Shall I run and get it for you?" Down she ran and picked up a letter at random off the desk in the office. And she brought back also a sheet of notepaper and an envelope, a millboard portfolio and a pencil.
"What's all that?" he asked mildly, opening the letter.
"Well, you want to write to missis, don't you?"
"Um?" he murmured as he read the letter, affecting not to have heard her. He was ashamed and self-conscious because he had not himself had the idea of writing to Violet.
"You'll be sending a note to missis at the hospital. It'll give her a good lift-up to hear from you."