“Then I do, my dear; and I shall come and see you more often, for you’ve done me no end of good. It’s like a lesson to me, and I’ll never complain any more.”
“That’s right,” said Mary, smiling. “Do come oftener; I’m very much alone. We will not talk about our ailments,” she added with a smile.
“No, of course not; but I have been very poorly, dear, and I sent for Dr North. Do you take any interest in Dr North?”
Mrs Berens was not subtle enough of intellect to note the change in Mary’s countenance. At first there was a faint flush; then a waxen pallor; but she mastered her emotion, though her heart beat heavily as she said:
“Of course. He was very good and kind to me all through my illness.”
“Yes, poor man—poor, dear man!” sighed the widow. “And of course Mr Salis likes him very much?”
“Yes; they are very warm friends,” said Mary quietly.
“Then do—do pray talk to your brother,” cried Mrs Berens, with pathetic eagerness.
“No, no, Mrs Berens,” said a bluff, deep voice. “I’m always with my sisters, and they talk to me too much.”
“Oh, Mr Salis! You shouldn’t, you know,” cried the widow, all of a flutter. “You shouldn’t come in so suddenly.”