Meanwhile Annie entered the house. Mr Brooke was lying back in his chair, his face flushed, his hands tremulous.
“I am very sorry, my darling,” he said when he saw Annie, “but I have been a little bit faint. It will pass, of course; but poor Mrs Shelf is nervous about me, and wants Brett to be called in. I don’t suppose it is really necessary.”
“Of course it isn’t a bit necessary, uncle,” said Annie. “You are just excited because I have come back. Now do listen to me, darling. Your Annie has such a big favour to ask of you. You must not think it unkind of me to speak of it now, but it is so tremendously important. I will go and fetch the doctor immediately afterwards—I will indeed—if you really want him; but don’t you think you are just a wee bit nervous?”
“No, dear, not nervous,” said the old man. “I am really ill. This attack is sudden, but doubtless it will pass, and I must not be selfish.”
“It is horrid to disturb you when your head aches,” said Annie, “I wish now I had spoken to you this morning. I did not like to when you seemed not quite the thing. I am naturally thoughtful, you know.”
“Yes, yes, my little girl,” he answered, patting her hand. “I shall be well very, quickly now you are back.”
“But, Uncle Maurice, dear—oh, Uncle Maurice! you won’t say no? I have an invitation. I—I—want to accept it. It is from a very great lady. Here it is; can you read it?”
She put Lady Lushington’s letter into the old rector’s hand. He read the words slowly and with apparent calm. Then he laid it on his knee. For a minute there was silence between the two. Annie’s heart was beating hard. At last Mr Brooke said:
“You want to go?”
“I want to go,” said Annie with emphasis, “more than I want anything else in all the wide world.”