“Yes, my dear, I suppose so. Very good of you to come and see him.”
“Don’t say that.”
At the sight of Sally’s eyes the voice of the old woman changed suddenly. “He thinks, my dear, he’ll get better ... he quite thinks he’ll get better ... but ... but, Dr. Minyard....” Again the voice of the old woman changed. “Ah, there he is playing again. How beautifully he does play, doesn’t he? Hours ... and hours ... and hours. So soft and gentle ... the bit he’s playing now reminds him of the wind in Dibley Chase. Yes, and that bit too ... he says it makes him see the sun dancing along the Sharrow on an afternoon in July. Beautiful piano! So kind and thoughtful of your dear father! He quite thinks ... he’ll....”
XLVII
THE Corporal’s leg was a long time getting well.
First it came on a bit, then it went back a bit; but the process of recovery was a painful and a tardy business. Still it was much softened by the judicious help of others. By the interest of the Mayor of the city, whose model hospital on The Rise and its last word in equipment meant access to more than one influential ear, Corporal Hollis in the later stages of a long convalescence had the privileges of an out patient.
These privileges, moreover, were enjoyed in ideal conditions. Early in April, Melia was installed at Torrington Cottage, Dibley. To the secret gratification of her family, the business in Love Lane was given up, and Melia’s checkered life entered upon a new phase amid surroundings wholly different from any it had known before.
At first the change seemed almost too great to be enjoyed. After the gloom, the semi-squalor, the hard toil of Love Lane, it was like an entrance into paradise. And when, at the end of that enchanted month of April, the Corporal joined her in the new abode, Melia’s cup of happiness seemed quite perilously full.