Peter hung pathetically on her lightest word; the children, dazed and terrified, ate and exercised at her command; his own boy, a strange hard look in his furtive eyes, followed her like a dog, and Aunt Lucia submitted with unprecedented meekness to an abrupt curtailment of her interview with Clarice. He himself went into the bedroom for a moment, half uncertain of the reality of the experience. It was absurd to remember that he might never see her, conscious, again—his own little Caddy.
He sat awkwardly on the side of the bed.
“Well, little woman, how goes it?”
“Queen’s taste, Will!”
“Good for you! I’m proud of the Beldens, Caddy—Billy acts like a drum-major.”
Her eyes softened.
“The dear boy,” she murmured. Their eyes met. “Look after him,” hers said, and his, “As long as I live!” He stooped and kissed her lightly. “Mind you look as well as this to-morrow!”
“Oh, I shall be all right. Miss Strong will take care of me. When I think how I have the best of everything—such care—I’ve been a very happy woman, Will dear.”
His eyes filled. He threw her a kiss and went out blindly.
A hand touched his arm. “You’ve done her good,” said the nurse softly. “You stayed just long enough. She’ll take her nap now.”