Cornel looked inquiringly in the keen eyes which searched her face.
“You really want to go with your brother?”
“Yes,” she said with animation—“I should very much like to go.”
“To study with him in the English and French hospitals?”
“I should like him to take me round with him,” she said, with her cheeks growing slightly tinged. “I am always interested in his cases, and surely a woman is none the worse for a little surgical and medical knowledge.”
“A precious deal better, my dear. But, I say—”
“Yes, dear guardian,” she said, with a sweet, thrilling modulation now in her tones, as her eyes grew dim, and she laid both her little hands in the patient’s.
“I promised your father I’d always have an eye on you two, and I don’t think I ought to let you think of going, Cornel dear.”
She was silent.
“Isn’t it a sort of madness for you—to—eh? You know.”