“None whatever,” said Doctor Price, as he moved towards the door.
“And you, Simcox, you must go too; and take Nelly with you.”
“La, Miss——”
“Do as you are told,” said the Doctor, peremptorily.
“And now we are alone, child,” said he, as having closed the door, he returned to the bedside.
“Sit down, sit there,” said she, pointing to the chair, “and wait a moment till I collect myself. I don’t like that man; his voice jars on—there is so much in a voice. Yours, for instance, soothes me.” He smiled kindly on her, and she continued: “I was not always so captious, but illness makes one very fretful. Ain’t it so?”
“Naturally.”
“I must be very ill, then, if irritability be the measure. Do you know”—and here she spoke with immense rapidity, and with a jarring vibration in her voice—“do you know that there are times, mere moments, in which it needs all my self-control not to scream aloud? Yes, I feel as though I would give life itself to cry out—to fling this weary load off my poor heart, and tell all—all!”
“You must be calm, young lady, or I shall think I have done amiss in permitting this interview.”
“Don’t call me young lady. The other, that man I dislike, called me young lady. You must call me Kate.” He only smiled, and she took his hand in her own burning hand, and said, in a coaxing, caressing tone, “Say Kate—Kate!”