"I say, you have been awfully good to me," said Derrick, gratefully.
"Oh, that's all right," she said. "I—I like it. Like old times, you know. I must go and tell Mr. Bloxford; he's been like a sick monkey fretting over its young."
She stood beside the bed, her eyes downcast, her face pale now, but an expression on her proud and haughty lips which would have befitted a schoolgirl.
"Let me give you some broth. The doctor said you might have it, if you came to."
She brought him a cup, but to Derrick's disgust he could not grasp it, and she held it to his lips while he drank.
"You're an angel," he said; "yes, an angel. You look pale; you've been nursing me all this time. How long is it?"
"Four days," she said, in a low voice. They had been the happiest four days of her life.
"Good lord!" he muttered. "Four days! Oh, here, I say, I wish I could thank you properly, but I can't."
"There's no need," she said, in a low voice. "I'll go and tell the doctor and Mr. Bloxford."
She smoothed the clothes about him, her eyes still downcast, but as she went to the door she turned and looked at him. Derrick met the gaze of the dark eyes full blank, and as he did so the colour rose to his face, and it was his turn for his eyes to become downcast.