“Yes,” said Pamela gravely; and he felt that the warning was unnecessary.
“He is expecting you,” he added. “I believe he is anxious to see you. It is quite possible that this illness of his has wiped a good deal of the near past from his memory. I would advise you not to recall anything of a painful nature. Approach him if possible only on present matters. And cheer him up a little. You can possibly do more for him than I can at this stage.”
Pamela smiled at him bravely.
“I have come with the intention of doing all that is in my power,” she answered gently. “If he will let me, I will devote myself to him. I want to help him—if I can.”
“I don’t think there should be any difficulty about that,” he replied. “For a while you will have to be satisfied to leave him here. Later, if you wish, he can be moved to where you are staying. He could not undertake the journey to Cape Town yet.”
“No?” Pamela said, thinking abruptly of Connie and the children. “I had thought—”
“Too great a risk,” he said decidedly. “We’ll err on the side of caution, Mrs Arnott. He is making such a splendid recovery, I should be sorry if we did anything to retard it now. I think you will have to make up your mind to remain in Pretoria for a time. I will let you know as soon as I consider it safe for him to travel. In any case the hot weather would prohibit a long journey. Didn’t you find it very trying coming up?”
“I don’t think I mind the heat very much,” she answered, evading a more direct reply.
“That’s fortunate,” he returned, smiling, “because there is no getting away from it out here.” He rose. “Now, if you are ready, I will direct you to Mr Arnott’s room.”
He glanced at Dare.