“The Avesham nerves,” sighed Miss Fortescue. “Surely the note is clear enough.”
“Yes, it is not that,” said Jeannie; “but if this increases they will be short of hands. I heard that all the nurses in the hospital were working double time. I am going to say that I wish to help in any way that he will allow me.”
Miss Fortescue looked at her a moment, and neither surprise nor criticism was in her eye.
“We will go together,” she said; “let us go at once.”
“Why should you come?” asked Jeannie.
“Because I wish to. I know something about nursing, though I have never nursed typhoid, which is more than you do, Jeannie.”
Jeannie looked surprised.
“I didn’t know—” she began.
“You know very little about me, dear,” said Miss Fortescue, “and that’s a fact. Go and get on your hat. I suppose I ought to forbid you to visit or help in any way, even forbid you suggesting it. But there are certain risks on certain occasions which every one is bound to run. Whether the risk in your case is too great to be allowed I do not know. That is what we are going to Dr. Maitland to find out. I remember only that people who are fortunate enough to be as old as I are practically immune. I hear there are fifty fresh cases this morning.”
They found that Dr. Maitland was out and up at the hospital, where they followed him. After they had waited for a few minutes in a bare, dismal room, of which the principal furniture was a weighing-machine, a stethoscope, and a bottle labelled “poison,” he came in, looking grave, florid, and anxious.