'Oh, Dr. Heriot!' hardly able to believe it though from his own lips; 'this is so like you—so like your usual thoughtfulness; but indeed it is not necessary; Polly will take care of me.'
'I daresay she will,' with a glint of humour in his eyes; 'but all the same you must put up with my company.'
CHAPTER XXIX
THE COTTAGE AT FROGNAL
'Whose soft voice
Should be the sweetest music to his ear.'—Bethune.
The journey was accomplished with less difficulty and fatigue than Mildred had dared to expect.
Dr. Heriot's attentions were undemonstrative but unceasing. For a greater part of the way Mildred lay back amongst her snug wrappings, talking little, but enjoying to the full the novelty of being the object of so much care and thought. 'He is kind to everybody, and now he has taken all this trouble for me,' she said to herself; 'it is so like him—so like his goodness.'
They were a very quiet party. Dr. Heriot was unusually silent, and Polly sat watching the scenery and flying milestones with half-dreamy absorption. When darkness came on, she nestled down by Mildred's side. From his corner of the carriage, Dr. Heriot secretly peered at the faces before him, under the guttering oil-lamp. Mildred's eyes had closed at last from weariness; her thin cheek was pressed on the dark cushion. In spite of the worn lines, the outline of the face struck him as strangely fair; a fine nature was written there in indelible characters; even in the abandonment of utter weariness, the mouth had not relaxed its firm sweet curve; a chastened will had gradually smoothed the furrows from the brow; it was as smooth and open as a sleeping child, and yet youth had no part there; its tints and roundness had long ago fled.