"Thank you," was all he said; but he watched her keenly as she crossed the long room.
Olivia walked so quickly that she was almost out of breath when she reached her own door. The dining-room looked cold and comfortless. Martha was on her knees before the fireplace trying to revive the blackened embers with the help of the kitchen bellows, and Dr. Luttrell, with a tired face and puckered brow, was watching the proceedings somewhat impatiently. A tallow candle was guttering uncomfortably on the table.
"Is the fire out? Oh, Marcus, I am so sorry, but Martha and I will soon put things to rights. Will you go across to Galvaston House at once, please?"—and here Olivia's voice was full of suppressed excitement. "Mr. Gaythorne has slipped against the curb and hurt his foot; he is in great pain. I have been helping him, and then I said I would send you. I have left the gate open so you can just go up to the door."
Marcus listened to these details with an astonished face; then he caught up his black bag and nodded acquiescence. The tired frown left his face, and he moved away with his quiet, professional step.
Olivia watched him from the doorstep. As she closed the door after him, she could have clapped her hands with sheer delight and excitement. It was her doing that Marcus had his first patient. Those foolish maids would never have thought of sending for him. Dot was awake and singing to herself in her usual chuckling fashion in the firelight, but Olivia had no time to play with her pet.
"The bellows are no good, Martha," she said, quickly. "You must just fetch a bundle of sticks and a newspaper, and relay the fire, while I kindle the lamp and set the table for tea; the room feels like a vault."
"There is a good fire in the kitchen, ma'am, if you want to make toast," observed Martha, rising reluctantly from her knees; "I have been ironing Miss Baby's pinnys." Olivia, who was drawing the heavy curtain across the window, was relieved to hear this.
In another quarter of an hour the little room wore a more cheerful aspect. The sticks crackled and blazed lustily; the green-shaded lamp diffused a mellow light. The tea-tray was set and the plate of French toast was frizzling gently on a brass trivet. At the sound of her master's footstep Martha had orders to fill up the teapot and boil the eggs.
After this Olivia played with Dot, and undressed her, and then brought her in to say good-night to her father. But she waxed sleepy long before he let himself in with his latch-key.
Marcus paused on the threshold a moment as though something struck him. Olivia's face looked fair and sweet as she sat in her low chair with the sleepy child in her arms. She put back her head with a soft questioning smile as he bent down to kiss her face.