“They are coming, then?” said Neil absently. “Why, you know they are coming, dear. Really, Neil, I shall be very glad when you are married—and Alison, too, if it comes to that.”
Neil looked at her searchingly, but his aunt’s face was perfectly calm—placid to a degree—though all the while she was congratulating herself upon the subtlety and depth of her nature in introducing the subject so cleverly.
“And why, pray?” he said coldly.
“Because you want something else to think about besides cutting off people’s arms and legs. I declare you are quite growing into a dreamy, thoughtful old man. If I were Saxa Lydon I should take you to task finely about your carelessness and neglect. I declare I’ve felt quite ashamed of you.”
He looked at her sadly.
“I’m afraid I am anything but a model young man, Auntie.”
“Indeed you are, sir, and it’s quite time you mended. I don’t know what your father will say to you when he gets better. It is one of his pet projects, you know. Fortunately, Saxa is not like most girls.”
“No,” he said aloud, unintentionally. “Saxa is not like most girls.”
“Then do, pray, make haste and get your father well and the nurse out of the house.”
“Why are you in such a hurry to get the nurse out of the house, Aunt?”