“Not quite,” said Harry; “Fatima would not let him miss it by a minute. I believe she sits watching the clock, now she has learned what the figures mean, and why the hands go round.”
“That is right; speak up for your slave,” said Beatrice. “Any imputation upon her punctuality might depreciate her market value.”
“I would not sell her for her weight in gold, and that must be something towards settling the National Debt,” said Harry. “She nursed me back into life, I know.”
“I can never repay her,” murmured Mrs Forsyth.
At that moment the object of conversation appeared with a tray in her hand, and a broad smile on her honest black face. She was robed in white, with a red shawl and a yellow handkerchief round her head. They had tried to put her into a print gown and a mob cap, but she looked so queer and was so uncomfortable that they let her choose her own costume. Nursing was certainly her strong point, and she tended Kavanagh as carefully as if he had been a baby. Only she always thought it cold, and wanted to smother him with wraps.
It was no use resisting, so he had to put them away quietly when her back was turned.
“I shall have apoplexy if I am convalescent long,” said Kavanagh, swallowing the last spoonful of his jelly. “I am eating and drinking good things the whole day long.”
“But think of the privations you have to make up for,” said Mrs Forsyth.
“Oh, mother, what a dear you are!” cried Harry. “Now I know why we have asparagus every day for dinner! Apropos of dinner, who do you think is coming to feed with us this evening, Kavanagh?”
“Invalids are excused guessing,” said Kavanagh.