Mrs. Ives held up her mouth as she spoke to Clara’s sallow cheek. The daughter scarcely returned her salutation. Wrapped in thought she left the house. She ran down-stairs and let herself out, returning to the house in Harley Street some time after one o’clock. As she stood on the steps fumbling for her latch-key, her husband confronted her.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“To see an old patient.”
“I thought you had given up nursing.”
“I had a message from an old patient who wished particularly to see me—a message which I could not refuse.”
“Your mother brought it to you, didn’t she?”
“How did you know my mother was here, Luke?”
“I saw you go out with her. What did she come about?”
“I have just told you she brought a message from a patient, Luke. I did not know you were curious.”
“I am not the least curious,” he replied. “To be curious signifies an interest in a person. As I do not take the slightest interest in you I am not curious. Now, I have much to do, and will wish you good night.”