“I wish you had written to me, Mrs. Crowther,” said Disney. “I couldn’t have come home any sooner, but I could have telegraphed to my sister Allegra to look after my wife, and cheer her solitude. I was a fool not to have had her here all along.”
“Hadn’t I better go out of the room while you are holding your consultation about me?” exclaimed Isola, fretfully. “It’s rather hard upon the patient to hear her case discussed in cold blood. I am tired of declaring that I have not been ill, and that it is my misfortune and not my fault to have a pale complexion.”
“You were not always so pallid, my dear,” said Mrs. Crowther, persistently. “You were one of the beauties of the Hunt Ball, and you had colour enough that night.”
Dr. and Mrs. Baynham came the following afternoon, and these two told the same story, though with less obtrusive concern.
“I looked after the young lady now and then,” said the worthy doctor, “and as I found there was nothing radically wrong, I didn’t worry you with any low-spirited reports; but I expect to see her pick up wonderfully now you have come home. She didn’t take enough outdoor exercise, that’s where the harm was. She used to be so fond of her boat last year, but this year I fancy she didn’t feel herself up to handling the sculls. You didn’t now, did you, Mrs. Disney?”
“I don’t know about that, but I am ready to row to the Land’s End, now Martin is back,” said Isola, and those few words seemed the sweetest Martin Disney had heard since Colonel Manwaring’s daughter promised to be his wife.
Mrs. Baynham sat on the lawn, sipping her tea, and basking in the afternoon sunshine.
“You should have seen your wife in her wedding-gown at the Lostwithiel dance,” she said. “You would have been proud of her. She didn’t want to go—refused Mrs. Crowther and me again and again. She thought it wasn’t right to be at any merry-making while your life was in danger.”
“Yes, I know—I know. My tender-hearted Isola!”