I looked at him steadily. “I tell you I’m desperately ill, and here’s my son’s wedding only five days away!”
“You’ll be all right by that time. I’ll guarantee to fix you up, good as new.”
I continued to look at him steadily. “No, I sha’n’t—it’s impossible. And I sha’n’t be able to transact any business whatever. I mustn’t be allowed to see even the members of my own family. Do you understand?”
He glanced curiously at me, then reflected, twisting the end of his Van Dyck beard. He looked at my tongue, listened to my heart, felt my pulse, and took my temperature. “I’m afraid you’re right,” he said, gravely; “I see you’re worse off than I thought. We must have a trained nurse.”
“But I must have you, too,” said I. “You must move into the house, and I don’t want anybody but you to attend me.”
“Very well. You know I’m at your service. I’ll—superintend the nurse.”
“Thank you, Hanbury,” said I. “You understand me perfectly. I can trust you. And—something might happen to me—I’ll write you a check for ten thousand at once—a little personal matter quite apart from your bill.”
Hanbury reddened. I think he thought he was hesitating. But when he spoke it was to say: “Thank you—if you wish—but I’m sure I’ll pull you through.”
“I shall be able to see no one,” I went on. “But I’ve set my heart on my son’s marrying—the wedding must not be put off. I’m sure it would kill me if there were to be a delay.”
“I understand.” His eyes were smiling; the rest of his face was grave.