“Presently,” she retorted. “As you go to your room, Doctor, please ask Alex to come here. I shall not sleep until I have seen my husband,” and her air of finality closed the discussion. “Good night.”
Roberts smiled at her characteristic dismissal. At the door he turned to Miriam and signed to her to come into the hall.
“Humor her as much as possible,” he said. “When she gets her own way, she’ll go to sleep. Her pulse is better and she has no temperature. I’ll send Nash along,” and with a friendly smile he hurried downstairs.
Miriam had just given Mrs. Nash a drink of water when the clergyman came in. Mrs. Nash’s sharp, black eyes detected his constrained manner as he spoke to Miriam and her equally stiff acknowledgment of his greeting. Turning her back upon Nash, Miriam addressed his wife.
“I will wait in the alcove in the hall until your husband leaves,” she said. “If you wish anything, please let me know.”
Nash remained standing until the hall door closed behind Miriam and then he seated himself in a chair by his wife’s bed.
“I am so thankful that you are better, Dora,” he said, taking her hand in both his and raising it to his lips. “So very, very thankful to a merciful Providence.”
“Save some of your thanks for Miss Ward,” she remarked dryly. “She gave Providence a helping hand. By the way, you don’t seem to like her.”
“My dear Dora!”
“Why not?” she persisted, ignoring his interjection.