“Are you not feeling well?” said I innocently.
“Oh, thank you, I believe I’m quite well; only the room is rather warm, is it not?”
“Let me put the blinds down for you? The sun begins to have a good deal of power.” I drew down the blinds.
“You are so attentive, Mr. Harrison. Mr. Rose himself never did more for my little wishes than you do.”
“I wish I could do more—I wish I could show you how much I feel”—her kindness to John Brouncker, I was going to say; but I was just then called out to a patient. Before I went I turned back, and said:
“Take care of yourself, my dear Mrs. Rose; you had better rest a little.”
“For your sake I will,” she said tenderly.
I did not care for whose sake she did it. Only I really thought she was not quite well, and required rest. I thought she was more affected than usual at tea-time; and could have been angry with her nonsensical ways once or twice, but that I knew the real goodness of her heart. She said she wished she had the power to sweeten my life as she could my tea. I told her what a comfort she had been during my late time of anxiety; and then I stole out to try if I could hear the evening singing at the vicarage, by standing close to the garden wall.
“Oh, Mr. Harrison,” said she, “if you have really loved Caroline, do not let a little paltry money make you desert her for another.”
I was struck dumb. Loved Miss Caroline! I loved Miss Tomkinson a great deal better, and yet I disliked her. She went on: