After that, there was no more to be said. Zillah—disturbed over her domestic occupations and eager to get back to her kitchen—seized the first chance of leaving the room; going out in such a hurry that she forgot to close the door after her. We all looked at each other. To what conclusion did the nurse's strange answers point? It was plainly impossible for Oscar (no matter how quick his temper might be) to feel jealous of a man of Grosse's age and personal appearance. Still, the prolonged interview between patient and surgeon—after the decision had been pronounced and the trial of the eyes definitely deferred to a future day—had a strange appearance, to say the least of it.
Nugent returned to his place at the window—puzzled, suspicious, deep in his own thoughts. Reverend Finch, swelling with unspoken words, rose portentously from his chair by his wife's side. Had he discovered another chance of inflicting his eloquence on us? It was only too evident that he had! He looked at us with his ominous smile. He addressed us in his biggest voice.
"My Christian friends——"
Nugent, unassailable by eloquence, persisted in looking out of the window. Oscar, insensible to every earthly consideration except the one consideration of Lucilla, drew me aside unceremoniously out of the rector's hearing. Mr. Finch resumed.
"My Christian friends, I could wish to say a few appropriate words."
"Go to Lucilla!" whispered Oscar, taking me entreatingly by both hands. "You needn't stand on ceremony with her. Do, do see what is going on in the next room!"
Mr. Finch resumed.
"The occasion seems to call upon one in my position for a little sustaining advice on Christian duty—I would say, the duty of being cheerful under disappointment."
Oscar persisted.
"Do me the greatest of all favors! Pray find out what is keeping Lucilla with that man!"