“Good evening,” said the child, glancing about as she approached, and sighing with relief as she set the heavy vase on the edge of the table. “I had to come down so carefully not to spill, grandpa, that it made me a little late. Mrs. Forbes said you brought me the roses under false—false pretends, so I thought perhaps you would like them on the table.”
The housekeeper, hurrying forward, seized the vase from its precarious position and placed it in the centre of the board. “I didn't tell you you might come downstairs,” she said, as she buttoned the middle button of Jewel's dress.
The little girl looked up in innocent surprise. “You said I might dress me, so why should anybody have to bring up my dinner?” she asked.
Mrs. Forbes's countenance looked so lowering that Mr. Evringham hastened to speak in his brusque and final fashion. “She is here now. Might as well let her stay.”
Jewel jumped into her chair and turned toward him with an apologetic smile. “I couldn't make my hair look very nice,” she said, with the lift of her shoulders which he had come to connect with her confidential moments. Remembering the feverish child of the morning, he looked at her in silent wonder. The appearance of her flaxen head he could see was in contrast to the trim and well-cared-for look it had worn when she arrived.
“Poor little thing!” he thought. “She looks motherless—motherless.” Involuntarily he cast a glance of impatience at his other guests. The expression of blank amazement on their faces stirred him to amusement.
“If you are afraid of infection, Madge, don't hesitate to retire to your room,” he said. “Your dinner will be sent to you.”
“What does this mean!” ejaculated Mrs. Evringham. “Why is Dr. Ballard coming twice a day to see that child?”
“To cure her, of course,” returned the broker, his lips breaking into smiles. “Why do doctors generally visit patients?”
“Then when he came the second time he found her well?”