She wept silently, and Geoffrey lay and called himself names.
Presently—"Where is she?" he asked.
"Sister Phoebe? she is still in bed, and suffering a good deal. I am continuing the remedies you gave her. I—I have thought it best to let her suppose that Doctor Namby had attended you, Geoffrey. She is very nervous, and I feared to excite her."
Geoffrey commended her wisdom, but made it clear that he was not thinking of Miss Phoebe. Couldn't he see Miss Little Vesta? he asked. He wanted to—to thank her for what she had done, and ask just how she had done it. There were all sorts of details—in short, it was important that he should see her at once. Asleep? Why—it seemed unreasonable that she should be asleep at this hour of the morning. Was she not well?
"She—she watched by you most of the night!" Miss Vesta confessed. "Your head—she was afraid of congestion, and wanted the cloths changed frequently. She would not let me sit up, Geoffrey, though I begged her to let me do so. She will come as soon as she wakes, I am sure."
"I told you I was a cuttlefish!" said Geoffrey. "Now you see! I—I believe I am getting sleepy again, Miss Vesta. What is that pretty thing you have around your neck? Did she sit in that chair? What a fool a man is when he is asleep!"
Seeing his eyelids droop, Miss Vesta moved softly away; was called back at the door, and found him looking injured. "You haven't tucked me up!" he said.
Miss Vesta tucked him up with delicate precision, and drew the snowy counterpane into absolute smoothness. "There!" she said, her gentle eyes beaming with maternal pleasure. "Is there anything else, dear doctor—I mean dear Geoffrey?"
"No, nothing—unless—I don't suppose angels ever kiss people, do they?"
Very pink indeed, even to her pretty little ears, Miss Vesta stooped and deposited a very small and very timid kiss on his forehead; then slipped away like a little shocked ghost, wondering what Sister Phoebe would say.