"Very well, my dear," said his wife, and took up the tale in her swift, soft voice.
"You can fancy, my dear Miss Braithwaite, how intensely his mother has felt about it."
"Indeed, yes!" said Phyllis pitifully.
"Her whole life, since the accident, has been one long devotion to her son. I don't think a half-hour ever passes that she does not see him. But in spite of this constant care, as my husband has told you, he grows steadily worse. And poor Angela has finally broken under the strain. She was never strong. She is dying now—they give her maybe two months more.
"Her one anxiety, of course, is for poor Allan's welfare. You can imagine how you would feel if you had to leave an entirely helpless son or brother to the mercies of hired attendants, however faithful. And they have no relatives—they are the last of the family."
The listening girl began to see. She was going to be asked to act as nurse, perhaps attendant and guardian, to this morbid invalid with the injured mind and body.
"NO," SAID MRS. DE GUENTHER GRAVELY. "YOU WOULD NOT. YOU WOULD HAVE TO BE HIS WIFE"
"But how would I be any better for him than a regular trained nurse?" she wondered. "And they said he had an attendant."
She looked questioningly at the pair.