[CHAPTER II.]
HETTY.
The figure of a girl rose out of a bower of palms and ferns and stood before Gordon Bruce with a shy welcome in her violet eyes. Just for a moment Bruce found himself contrasting this fresh English beauty with the Lalage Southern loveliness to the detriment of the latter. There was a purity and sweetness, a wonderful tenderness of expression about Hetty Lawrence that had always appealed to Bruce.
He had known the Countess Lalage's governess for years. He admired her independence of character, too, though on the whole he would have preferred her taking the home that her uncle Gilbert Lawrence, the great novelist, was ever urging upon her. But she would have a home of her own soon.
"Gordon, I am so glad you have come," she whispered. "I have stolen away for half an hour as Mamie is better. If she wants me I have told the nurse----"
"She can't want you half so badly as I do," Gordon laughed as he bent down and kissed the shy lips. "And that queer little creature will have to learn to do without you altogether before long. Four new patients today, Hetty. And I have taken the house in Green-Street."
"Can we really afford it?" Hetty asked anxiously.
Bruce kissed her again. He loved that little pathetic, anxious look of hers. He spoke confidently of the time when Harley Street should be theirs. There was a strength and reliance about her lover that always comforted Hetty.
"I shall be glad," she whispered, after a thoughtful pause, "glad to get away from here."