“Never mind. You are anxious to get back to your patients. I don’t care a fig for fine scenery or picture galleries, or old palaces, or anything of that sort. I came to Paris to get my trousseau. I have got it, and now I wish to return to England.”
“All right, Clara,” said Tarbot. “I am abundantly willing.”
The pair crossed to Dover by the night boat that evening, and early on the following morning arrived at Tarbot’s house in Harley Street. The servants expected them, and were up. The weather was getting chilly, and Clara was glad to see fires in the rooms and the whole place looking fresh and clean. She looked round with approbation, gave her orders to the footman in a haughty tone, which made him secretly incline to the belief that his master had married a duchess in disguise, and then swept up-stairs to her own room.
This room, by Tarbot’s orders, had been newly furnished. It was bare, cold, and correct, but Clara was pleased with it. She liked the sense of space which it gave, and she thought that the pale blue and white furniture would suit her complexion.
“By the way,” she said, turning to Tarbot, who followed her, “you intend to give me carte blanche to do what I like in the re-arranging of the house?”
“Certainly,” he replied. “I shall have no time to attend to the house. A great number of fresh patients have written for appointments. As soon as I have had breakfast I shall order the brougham and go round at once to attend to them.”
“Very well,” said Clara. “That will suit me perfectly.”
“Are you not tired?” he said. “You have been up all night. Wouldn’t you like to lie down for a little?”
“Tired!” she answered. “I! You forget what my old life was.”
“True; but you are so changed—so transformed.”