“Nerves,” he said. “It’s nearly all nerves. I know something about Mrs. Povey’s constitution now, and I was hoping that your visit would do her good.”
“She’s been quite well—I mean what you may call quite well—until the day before yesterday, when she sat in that draught. She was better last night, and then this morning I find her ever so much worse.”
“No worries?” The doctor looked at her confidentially.
“What CAN she have in the way of worries?” exclaimed Sophia. “That’s to say—real worries.”
“Exactly!” the doctor agreed.
“I tell her she doesn’t know what worry is,” said Sophia.
“So do I!” said the doctor, his eyes twinkling.
“She was a little upset because she didn’t receive her usual Sunday letter from Cyril yesterday. But then she was weak and low.”
“Clever youth, Cyril!” mused the doctor.
“I think he’s a particularly nice boy,” said Sophia, eagerly,