“Yes, dear, Alison opened it. He said it must be for him.”
Neil frowned, but said no more, and taking out the telegram he read:
“The nurse leaves town this afternoon. Let a carriage meet her at the station.
“Hayle.”
“Hah!” he said, passing the letter to his aunt. “I am glad of that; it will set me free, and the help of a good nurse at a time like this is invaluable.”
“But shall we be able to trust her?” said Aunt Anne. “My experience of nurses is that they are dreadful women, who drink and go to sleep in sickrooms, and the patient cannot wake them, and dies for want of attention.”
“Oh, Aunt!” cried Isabel.
“I am assured that it is quite true, my dear,” said Aunt Anne, didactically.
“I think we have changed all that, Aunt, dear,” said Neil, smiling. “Sir Denton would not send down any woman who is not thoroughly trustworthy.”
Aunt Anne pursed up her lips, and tried to look wise and full of experience—a difficult task for a lady with her plump, dimpled countenance.
“Well, my dear,” she said, “I hope so; but it always seems to me that the selection of an attendant for a sick man is a lady’s duty, and I cannot believe in the choice made by a man, and such an old man too. But there, we shall see.”