“I have perfect faith in nurse,” he said apologetically. “Forgive me for being anxious about my ward.”
“Partly humbug, my dear boy,” said the great surgeon to himself. “But there, I don’t blame him.” Then aloud: “My dear Elthorne, seriously, I think change is necessary sometimes, and take my word for it, as an old experienced man, when I say that a holiday is no waste of time. You will come back clearer-headed, and with your nerves toned up. When you come back I shall myself take a few days’ rest, and I can do so with the pleasant feeling of confidence that everything here in my ward will go on exactly as I could wish—thanks to you both.”
“Thanks to your teachings,” said Neil.
“Well, perhaps I have done my best. You are wanted there.”
One of the dressers had come up and was waiting to speak, and Neil went off with him directly to the other end of the ward.
“He will be a great man one of these days, nurse,” said the old surgeon quietly. “His heart is in his work, and he is having chances far beyond any that came to my lot when I was young. We have made such vast strides during the past five and twenty years. And now, my child, a word or two with you.”
“With me, Sir Denton?” said the nurse, with the blood flushing up at once into her pale cheeks.
“Yes,” he said, watching her keenly. “Proof positive. The colour flooded your face directly I spoke. You are as nervous as if you had been ill.”
“Oh, I am quite well, Sir Denton,” she said hastily.
“No, you are not, my child. You are over-strung. You have been working too hard, and you are on the point of breaking down. Your life is too valuable to us all here for your health to be trifled with.”