"Quite well enough to go out, if her people are careful of her," said the doctor, who was not blind, and thought the patient had been there long enough. "Write to them, or wire, and say she must be fetched away."
"That is not so easy," said Denzil, in tones of ruffled dignity. "Her brother is at Basingstoke, and has been promised that she shall be kept three weeks."
"Well," said the doctor, "you can't foresee a fever epidemic."
Mr. Vanston looked much disturbed. "The risk of leaving her exposed to infection is, of course, not to be thought of," he said. "And I suppose you want to bring in your cases at once?"
"At once, if you and Miss Rawson would be so kind as to put the girl in your motor and drive her to the station. Wire to the brother to meet her, and you have done all that could possibly be expected."
Denzil stood considering. The idea of losing Rona—of losing her at once, that very day—gave him a curious internal jolt for which he was quite unprepared.
"Thank you," he said at last. "I will bring the motor at half-past two. May I ask that Miss Smith be not informed that she is leaving the Cottage Hospital, but simply told that my aunt is calling to take her for a drive this afternoon? I would rather explain matters myself. Sister Agnes, kindly give Miss Smith this basket, with my kind regards."
They promised him his own way in the matter; and after a short discussion of the outbreak of fever, and the adequate staffing of the Cottage Hospital, he departed, and hurried up through the park to Normansgrave, his brain evolving an idea as he went.
Miss Rawson was in the garden, pottering round to gloat over her bulbs, which were doing admirably that year. She gazed with some amusement upon her nephew's perturbed countenance. "She can't have refused him—yet," was the thought that lurked behind her twinkling eyes.
"Aunt Bee, I want you to do something for me—that is, I wish to desire you to do something——"