“What is it? what is it?” said Elthorne sharply.
She told him.
“Now what can she want that she could not have come and said to you herself? In a quarter of an hour, eh?” he continued, turning his eyes to the little carriage clock standing on the table. “Yes: they will be out of the dining room then, and the gentlemen will be sitting over their claret—as I used to be over my glass of port—as I used to be over my glass of port.”
“Shall I read to you again for a while, sir?” said the nurse, to divert his thoughts from the past.
“No, not now,” he said shortly. “Hah! How little we know of what is in store for us. Such a hale, strong man as I was, nurse. And now, a helpless baby—nothing more.”
“Nothing more, sir? With mental powers such as yours?”
“Hah! yes. A good reproof, but it is impossible not to lie here and repine. Mental powers such as mine! That was not meant as flattery, eh?”
“I think you know I would not be so contemptible, sir,” she said.
“Yes, I do know. Thank you. Another reproof. Why, nurse, my accident must have done me good. I should have resented reproofs once upon a time. But I’ve paid dearly for my lesson—very dearly indeed, and there is so much more to pay—all my life. Yes, all my life.”
He closed his eyes and lay thinking for some time, not opening them till the quarter of an hour had nearly sped, when he looked sharply at the little clock.