“No; I didn’t think she could. But—but couldn’t you have brought one of the servants? I don’t like the idea of you traveling up here all alone,” he said half apologetically.
“It would have meant another fare,” she answered simply. “I didn’t think we ought to spend more than we had to. There will be the doctor’s bill, you know. Is he—is he out of his head?”
“Yes; but that’s to be expected, you know. The doctor—and by the way, he’s the best I could find—the doctor says that Phil has a good, tough constitution and that he ought to pull through all right. Only it will be some time before he’s well again.”
“I know. The time is nothing if only—he gets well.” Suddenly, to John’s consternation, she turned her face away from him, laid her head against the cushion and wept softly from sheer fatigue and nervousness. He longed to take her in his arms and comfort her, and the temptation to do so was so great that he had to grit his teeth and look away from the slim, heaving shoulders.
“There’s scarcely any question about his getting well,” he said cheerfully. “He’s got a splendid doctor, good care and a lot of strength. We’ll pull him through all right, Miss Ryerson.”
The averted head nodded. One small gray-gloved hand lay beside him. John laid his own upon it reassuringly and his heart leaped as he felt it seized and clung to desperately. As soon as he was sure of his voice he went on:
“They were afraid to take him to the hospital and so he’s in his own room in Thayer. His roommate, young Baker, moved out and they put Phil into the study. The nurse has the bedroom. I’ve taken a room for you nearby, on Broadway. It’s a nice house and I think you’ll be very comfortable.”
“You’ve been very kind,” said a tremulous voice.