'You've been having trouble with the nurses?' Wantley spoke with a certain effort. He had not shown his wife the country doctor's letter to himself.
Mrs. Moss tossed her head. 'That we have indeed! They don't like chronic cases. That's what they all say. I don't know what young women are coming to! Wait till they're chronic cases themselves! The night nurse left this morning. I don't know, I'm sure, what we shall do about to-night.'
Wantley checked the torrent of words. 'We will arrange about that, you and I, later. Do you think my aunt would like to see me now, at once?'
Mrs. Moss shook her head. 'One time's the same to her as another,' she said, sighing, and left the room.
II
During the last year, crowded as it had been to himself with events of great moment, Wantley had yet thought much of Penelope's mother. The knowledge of what she had done, though hidden away in the most secret recess of his mind and memory had yet inspired him, as time went on, with an increasing feeling of fear and repulsion.
His recollection of all that had happened at Monk's Eype remained so vivid that sometimes he would seem to go again through some of the worst moments of the dreadful day, which, as he remembered it, had begun with his strange interview with Lady Wantley.
For many weeks—ay, and even months—he had lived in acute apprehension of what each hour might bring forth; and even when the passage of time had gradually brought a sense of security, when great happiness and, for the first time in his life, daily work of a real and strenuous nature had come together to fill his thoughts and chase forth morbid terror of an untoward revelation, he had heard with actual relief that Lady Wantley was very ill, and likely to die.
Very unwillingly he had brought Cecily with him to Marston Lydiate. But he had found it impossible to give any adequate reason why she should be left to spend a lonely Christmas in London; further, she had expressed, with more strength than was usual with her, a desire to accompany him, and he had been surprised at the warm affection with which she had spoken of Penelope's mother.
He was quite determined that his own first meeting with Lady Wantley should take place alone; and so at last, when he felt the moment he dreaded could no longer be postponed, Cecily had to submit to being placed on a sofa, and left, wondering, perplexed, even a little hurt, while Wantley, guided by Mrs. Moss, went to face an ordeal which his wife actually envied him.