“I can’t work round the children in anything else,” she protested.
“Those things” were charming. She wore a rose silk negligee trimmed with soft bands of lace and blue satin flowers, a petticoat to match that garment, and a lace cap.
He hesitated in the doorway and looked at her—a curious glance, I thought, full of tenderness, reproof—apprehension perhaps.
“I’ll take it off, dear,” she replied to the glance. “I wanted Miss Adams to know that, even if we haven’t a servant in the house, we are at least civilized. I—I haven’t taken cold.” This last was clearly an afterthought.
He went out then and left us together. She came over to me swiftly.
“What did the other nurse say?” she demanded.
“I do not know her at all. I have not seen her.”
“Didn’t she report at the hospital that we were—queer?”
I smiled.
“That’s hardly likely, is it?”