Mrs. Nash’s eyes slowly opened and regarded him steadily. “What’s the matter with your medicines?” she demanded. “Why am I not better?”
“Don’t be so impatient.” He evaded a direct reply. “Where is Miss Ward?”
“Asleep, I presume. She went to her room after giving me my breakfast this morning.” Mrs. Nash sat up a little straighter. “Where did you find such a pretty woman?”
“She came from the Central Registry; I know no more than that.” Roberts looked at her inquiringly. “You find her competent and intelligent?”
“As nurses go.” Mrs. Nash sniffed. An argument with Miriam that morning, in which she had come off second best, still rankled. “I admit that she is nicer in the sick room than my niece Betty.”
“Has Betty been with you this morning?”
“Yes,” grimly. “She was worse than useless. Well,” regarding Roberts attentively, “why, do you look at me like that?”
“Betty is hardly herself, Mrs. Nash, since the tragedy of yesterday.”
Mrs. Nash did not give him time to complete his sentence. “So you, too, think Betty is crushed? Well, so she is—on some one else.”
“My dear Mrs. Nash!”