Dr. Mackenzie bent forward to examine minutely a microscopic darn in the sheet. "And why?" he asked very low.
"Because," said Garth, "that pleasant lady, as you rightly call her, has a noble, generous heart, and it might overflow with pity for my blindness; and pity from her I could not accept. It would be the last straw upon my heavy cross. I can bear the cross, doctor; I hope in time to carry it manfully, until God bids me lay it down. But that last straw—HER pity—would break me. I should fall in the dark, to rise no more."
"I see," said Dr. Rob gently. "Poor laddie! The pleasant lady must not come."
He waited silently a few minutes, then pushed back his chair and stood up.
"Meanwhile," he said, "I must rely on you, Mr. Dalmain, to be agreeable to Nurse Rosemary Gray, and not to make her task too difficult. I dare not send her back. She is Dr. Brand's choice. Besides—think of the cruel blow to her in her profession. Think of it, man!—sent off at a moment's notice, after spending five minutes in her patient's room, because, forsooth, her voice maddened him! Poor child! What a statement to enter on her report! See her appear before the matron with it! Can't you be generous and unselfish enough to face whatever trial there may be for you in this bit of a coincidence?"
Garth hesitated. "Dr. Mackenzie," he said at last, "will you swear to me that your description of this young lady was accurate in every detail?"
"'Swear not at all,'" quoted Dr. Rob unctuously. "I had a pious mother, laddie. Besides I can do better than that. I will let you into a secret. I was reading from Sir Deryck's letter. I am no authority on women myself, having always considered dogs and horses less ensnaring and more companionable creatures. So I would not trust my own eyes, but preferred to give you Sir Deryck's description. You will allow him to be a fine judge of women. You have seen Lady Brand?"
"Seen her? Yes," said Garth eagerly, a slight flush tinting his thin cheeks, "and more than that, I've painted her. Ah, such a picture!—standing at a table, the sunlight in her hair, arranging golden daffodils in an old Venetian vase. Did you see it, doctor, in the New Gallery, two years ago?"
"No," said Dr. Rob. "I am not finding myself in galleries, new or old. But"—he turned a swift look of inquiry on Jane, who nodded—"Nurse Gray was telling me she had seen it."
"Really?" said Garth, interested. "Somehow one does not connect nurses with picture galleries."