As Roberts reached the second floor, Miriam rose from her seat in the alcove, where she had been eating her breakfast, and accompanied him into the sick room. Mrs. Nash, with Martha sitting watchfully by the bed, was dozing, and Roberts refrained from arousing her. Once again in the hall he paused to speak to Miriam before going down the stairs.
“Keep up the same treatment,” he directed. “Do not let her exert herself in any way, and no excitement, mind—”
Miriam hesitated. “Is she to see any one?” she asked.
“I leave that to your discretion.” He paused for thought. “Don’t permit any discussion—any arguments.” He came back a step. “I wouldn’t let her mind dwell too much on Mr. Abbott’s murder, and discourage her from talking about it.”
“I do, Doctor.” Miriam looked down the empty hall, and then back at Roberts. “Don’t you think you had better get a second nurse?”
“That’s not necessary now,” exclaimed Roberts. “In fact, two nurses would alarm Mrs. Nash unduly about her condition. You are getting some sleep, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’m supposed to be off duty now, but I don’t like to leave her.”
“Oh, have Martha alternate with Miss Carter in the sick room; they can call you if she has another attack.” He noticed her change in expression, and, struck by an idea, asked in a lower voice: “Are Mrs. Nash and her niece on good terms?”
“Why, yes,” glancing at him in surprise, and Roberts looked sharply at her.
“Sure?”