“You see it would be so advantageous,” he continued. “After a few days you could set Mr Elthorne at liberty to come back here. Of course, as you know, the case is one which needs almost wholly a careful nurse’s skill. How soon will you be free to go?”
Like lightning the thoughts flashed through her brain of the position she would occupy. It was like throwing her constantly in Neil Elthorne’s society, and she shrank from the position almost with horror. For, of late there had been no disguising from herself the fact that the young surgeon had, in his quiet way, been more than courteous to her, and that his manner betokened a something, which on his side was fast ripening into admiration.
“It is impossible,” she thought. “It would be cruelty to him, for he is sincere and manly. No, I cannot go. It would be a crime. Sir Denton,” she said hastily, aloud. “You must excuse me from this duty. I cannot go.”
“No,” he said firmly, and he took her hand. “I cannot, I will not excuse you. Once more I tell you that you ought to go; it is your duty.”
“But why?” she cried, rather excitedly.
“Because you—evidently a lady of gentle birth—have set yourself the task of toiling for your suffering fellow-creatures. Here is one who may die if you do not go to his help.”
“But another would be as efficient.”
“I do not know one at the present moment whom I would trust as I would you; and in addition, the call comes at a time when it is imperative that you should have rest and change.”
“But,” she said, with a smile full of perplexity, “that would not be rest and change.”
“Can you not trust me to advise you for your good?” said Sir Denton gravely.