Chapter Seven.
“Why, there then, my precious, you are ever so much better. You look quite bright this morning.”
“Do I, ’Liza?” said Kate sadly, as she walked to her bedroom window and stood gazing out at the sodden park and dripping trees.
“Ever so much, my dear. Mr Leigh has done you a deal of good. I do wonder at finding such a clever gentlemanly Doctor down in an out-of-the-way place like this. You like him, don’t you?”
The girl turned slowly and gazed at the speaker, her brow contracting a little at the inner corners of her straight eyebrows, which were drawn up, giving her face a troubled expression.
“I hardly thing I do, nurse, dear; he is so stern and firm with me. He seems to talk to me as if it were all my fault that I have been so weak and ill; and he does not know—he does not know.”
The tears rose to her eyes, ready to brim over as she spoke.
“Ah! naughty little girl!” cried the woman, with mock anger; “crying again! I will not have it. Oh! my own pet,” she continued, changing her manner, as she passed her arm lovingly about the light waist and tenderly kissed her charge. “Please, please try. You are so much better. You must hold up.”
“Yes, yes, nurse, I will,” cried the girl, making an effort, and kissing the homely face lovingly.
“And what did I tell you? I’m always spoken of as your maid now—lady’s maid. It must not be nurse any longer.”