Oddly enough, that was all he said.
“Madame has a headache, Dr. Shayle. She wishes you to attend her as soon as you have finish’ with the—with Master Jacques.”
The interruption came from Annette, the maid who had been bitten, now serene of voice and immaculate in fresh cap and apron.
“What, another?”
Dolores heard the mutter which prefaced Shayle’s more formal acknowledgment of the message. She was surprised at the headache and told the doctor so. Mrs. Cabot had looked quite well on returning from her ride.
Although he made no comment, she was struck by his expression and the fact that it was reflected in the thin face of the boy—an expression hard to define, but certainly not sympathetic.
After a luncheon served for Jack and herself in his sitting-room, the boy was retired to his nap and she summoned to an interview with Mrs. Morrison. She was not asked whether she would or would not stay. The housekeeper seemed to have taken it for granted that she would. And indeed, two realizations had settled the issue. Jack needed her and she needed him.
She was shown a pleasant room farther along the third-floor balcony and asked about her luggage. Her wages would be the same as paid the previous governess. Mrs. Cabot regretted a slight indisposition, but sent word that, as Dr. Shayle approved her start with Master Jack, she was to use her own judgment.
The kindly housekeeper expressed a personal hope that she would be happy and comfortable. She must come down to the ground-floor parlor when lonely and must not fail to ask for anything she needed or wished.
Before the young heir had awakened, Dolores returned to the outer room of the suite. She took up a magazine, but did not feel like reading—got no farther than a page of kennel advertisements. Her eyes upon a circle which had been penciled around the picture of a pedigreed Airedale, she gave up to her thoughts.