Stephen brought a pale Ellen from the train and put the two women into a car.
"See that she gets a rest. I'll be up to lunch at one."
In the Belvoir Fetzer felt at ease—here was one spot which she had made hers and here she exhibited an air of proprietorship which impressed even the porters. Her own kingdom—she would like them to realize—was no less grand than theirs!
Stephen, coming to the door to escort his guests to the dining-room, looked not the least like pedant in charge of pupil, which character he bore in the mind of Fetzer. Freedom from anxiety and a new interest in life changed him visibly, straightened his shoulders and quickened a little his deliberate voice. He had read "Conrad in Quest of His Youth," he knew exactly what had revived him. He had talked all the morning with a rising young surgeon about an operative form of inflammation of the cornea, and had observed that the young man had come far less directly than himself to his conclusions.
He looked with delight at a refreshed Ellen who moved without embarrassment through the lobby where a hundred pairs of eyes watched her, and who walked, still unperturbed, the length of the dining-room. When his order was given, he told his guests his programme for the afternoon.
"We're going to the Metropolitan Gallery. Fetzer, did you bring your crocheting?"
Fetzer said, "Now, Doctor!"
"Good! You won't want to listen to all the preaching I mean to do and we'll leave you in a snug corner."
"Well," assented Fetzer, "I have a little rheumatism in the knees. I guess it will be better to sit still."
Having climbed the main stairway of the museum, with a supporting hand on each side, Fetzer was escorted to a comfortable seat in a warm room. She still looked with approval upon this man of important affairs who interrupted the course of his busy life to be kind.