“And the typhoid?” asked Ruby.
“For the last week there has been no further case,” she said, “and everybody is getting better. No deaths for the last week, either. It looks as if it is all over. I was quite wrong, it seems, about the need of Thurso’s going there. It seems that he was of the utmost use in making the people obey doctors’ orders. I had not thought of that; it was stupid of me.”
This was completely characteristic of her. If she were wrong, she owned up at once. It spared one the degradation of arguing against one’s convictions.
“But I hope he will stop in town for the rest of the season,” she went on. “People already think it is odd of him to be in Scotland now; and though it matters very little what people think, it is much better that they should not think at all.”
“And Maud?” asked Ruby.
“It is from her I had all this news, though I have been writing—type-writing, I should say—to Thurso. Maud was interesting. She told me about a Mr. Cochrane, to whom Thurso let the fishing. He is a Christian Scientist, which sounds silly, but Maud says she saw him cure a bad case. She writes quite gravely, too, as if she really believed it, and she is not fanciful. I think I shall study Christian Science next August.”
“Why August?”
“Because I sha’n’t have any time in July. Oh yes, and Maud did not know that the fishing was let—so like Thurso not to tell her—and was caught by Mr. Cochrane poaching in his river. He wasn’t annoyed, it appears, though it certainly ought to have been annoying. Do you think I shall never be annoyed any more if I study Christian Science all August?”
“Oh, conceal your want of annoyance, then,” said Ruby, “and in any case don’t get the Christian Science smile. It wouldn’t suit you, and it is particularly fatiguing for others. Alice Yardly has it. That is why I can’t look at her any more.”
Lady Thurso was still not quite satisfied with her staircase, or, at any rate, she wanted to be sure that she was.