“You are teasing now, with that mischievous light in your eyes. Yet the first time I saw your face I thought that either you had or would have a history.”
“Sad?” The sudden poignancy of the question startled Rose.
She looked quickly at her to note if she were as earnest as her voice sounded. The dark eyes smiled daringly, defiantly at her.
“I am no sorceress,” she answered evasively but lightly; “look in the glass and see.”
“You remind me of Floy Tyrrell. Pooh! Let us talk of something else. Then it can’t be Wednesdays?”
“It can be any day. The Page children can have Friday.”
“Do you know how Mr. Page is?”
“Did you not hear of the great operations he—Dr. Kemp—performed Friday?”
“No.” She could have shaken herself for the telltale, inevitable rush of blood that overspread her face. If Rose saw, she made no sign; she had had one lesson.
“I did not know such a thing was in his line. I had been giving Miss Dora a lesson in the nursery. The old nurse had brought the two little ones in there, and kept us all on tenter-hooks running in and out. One of the doctors, Wells, I think she said, had fainted; it was a very delicate and dangerous operation. When my lesson was over, I slipped quietly out; I was passing through the corridor when Dr. Kemp came out of one of the rooms. He was quite pale. He recognized me immediately; and though I wished to pass straight on, he stopped me and shook my hand so very friendly. And now I hear it was a great success. Oh, Miss Levice, he has no parallel but himself!”