Beatrix looked the surprise which she could not speak.
"I? Good heavens, no! I scarcely know you."
A look of disappointment and pain, which was not all physical, crept over the white, sunken face.
"Small wonder!" she muttered, under her breath; "and whose fault is it, after all?" Then, aloud, she added, eagerly, "I—I wanted to talk to you about this; that was the reason why I did not send for Doctor Darrow. He is good, but, then, he is nothing to me, after all. I am, of course, only one of his patients to him; he feels no personal interest in me or my fate. Beatrix, you will care, you will have some affection for me? Don't look so surprised. I—I knew your mother. I saw you when you were a babe. Many a time I have held you in my arms, for I was your nurse, you know. I was selected to rear you, and also Keith—dear Keith! And now you are his wife? Well, that is as it should be. You did not know that I had nursed you," she went on swiftly, smiling feebly at the look of astonishment upon Beatrix's face; "but Bernard Dane knew, and he will tell you that I am speaking truly. You will send a notary to me, will you not?" she cried, her voice rising shrill and troubled.
Beatrix rose.
"You shall have whatever you wish," she returned. "I will go at once and attend to it."
"Beatrix."
"Yes, dear."
"Will you kiss me?"