“Thanky,” said the woman, in a tone of voice which robbed the word of thankfulness; and the nurse went across to where the young surgeon was busy with another patient.
“And she knows I don’t like lavender water,” grumbled the woman. “Always trying to play the fine lady nurse, and showing off, and I don’t believe she’s a lady at all. A real lady would have brought Padchouly or Odyklone. Think I don’t know. Flowers and grapes only cheap rubbish. Can’t afford better, I suppose.”
She lay back watching the actions of nurse and surgeon the while, and commenting thereon.
“She’s an artful one, she is, with all her demure looks and mincing ways. I’m not blind. Only come here because she can wear them play-acting clothes and show off. I haven’t patience with her. Lady nurse, indeed. No more a lady than I am. Yes, of course. Look at that. But it won’t do, madam. He’s engaged, and if I see much more of it I’ll tell the old doctor—see if I don’t. You’re not going to trap our Master Neil, and so I tell you. I should like to set Miss Saxa at her. My word, she’d startle my lady. Well, now; look at that!”
There was not much to see, only that Neil Elthorne had spoken as they were leaving the other patient’s bedside, and the nurse had turned to look at him as if half startled, and then turned away and came back seeming slightly disturbed. But by the time she had reached the first patient’s bedside her face was perfectly calm again, and an unbiased observer would have said that it was very beautiful in its gentle, resigned expression.
“Let me sprinkle a little of the scent for you,” she said.
“Oh, very well. If you like,” said Maria ungraciously. Then quickly, and with a flash of suspicion in her eyes, “I say, why do you look at me like that? You don’t think I shall die, do you?”
“Oh, no,” said the nurse, smiling, “indeed no. You will get better and go.”
“But lots of them do die, don’t they?”
“Some do, unfortunately; but why should you think of that?”