"No, he didn't. You assumed that he would."
"Well, I call it most neglectful."
"There is nothing to come for now," she said soothingly. "It is a good way from Dorking to Pine Tree Valley, and of course, as he said, there is no good in running up a long bill."
"I don't believe he said that," I cried heatedly.
"Perhaps he didn't," she admitted; "but you mustn't excite yourself. I am going to lower the blinds. You said you were sleepy."
"I never was so wide awake in all my life," I almost sobbed. "I think it is mean of Dr. Renton. I did so want to get up this week and smell the wallflowers before they were quite over. I think they were late in flowering for my sake. I put them in and they waited for me, and now I shall miss them."
"I will bring some in for you to smell."
"It won't be the same," I cried petulantly. "You don't understand, nurse. To enjoy wallflowers to the full the sun must be shining upon them, and you must stand a little away from the bed, and the west wind must come along gently, bearing in its arms the scent—just a breath of warm fragrance, and—well, that is the way to enjoy wallflowers, and—oh, nurse, I do so want to bury my face in them." I tailed off to a wail.
She walked to the window and lowered the blind.
"If you carry on in this way you will never smell wallflowers again." She was cross. "I shall leave you now, and perhaps you'll be calmer when I come back."