"No, I was not thinking of Mrs. Cawein. I'll tell you some day, Father, what I was thinking of. But—" he looked at him straight. "I'd like you to trust me a little if you will, please."
[XXVII]
"I'm not going to bed!" said Medfield irritably. "I don't want to lie down. I'm tired of lying down!" He looked out of the window and scowled.
The nurse was silent a minute, regarding him thoughtfully. Then she laid a light, cool hand on his wrist and her fingers found the pulse and held it.
"There's nothing the matter!" he said crossly.
"No, there doesn't seem to be." She released his wrist and went quietly out.
The millionaire's eyes followed her.... A shrewd flash came into them. The little annoyance had left his face; it had the keen, concentrated look that men who knew Herman Medfield did not care to see on his face—if they had business with him. It was the look that meant he was on the track of something or somebody.
He reached out to the bell.