CHAPTER XIII[ToC]
Sally was in rather better spirits for some time after that walk to Fisherman's Cove, although there is some doubt whether the improvement was due to her brief sight of the Cove under a winter sun and moon or to realization of the fact that a great number of people were worse off than she or to her break with Everett or to seeing Fox again. But her break with Everett was of only a temporary nature, a fact which he made very evident to her, at least, and, incidentally, to Miss Miller and to Miss Lambkin and to Mrs. Upjohn and to many others; and, as for seeing Fox, she had been enjoying that privilege for twelve years, from time to time. To be sure, it had occasionally been a long while from time to time, but that had not seemed to trouble Sally. So, altogether, we are forced to abandon the inquiry as fruitless. Sally, if we had asked her, would have smiled and would have answered quite truly that she didn't know and she didn't care. It was the fact which was most important; the fact was, indeed, of the only importance, except to persons like Miss Letty Lambkin, who are never satisfied with the simple facts of life, but must dig down until they find certain diseased roots, which they fondly believe, without further tracing, to be the roots of those facts, but which, more often than not, do not belong to them at all, but to some other tree.
Fox's hospital had had an opening, to which the inhabitants of Whitby were invited. Whitby, in a way, was as exclusive as Philadelphia, and Fox's cards of invitation were addressed only to those fortunate persons living in a certain restricted area. That area was bounded, on the east, by the Cow Path, although a few cards found their way down the hill as far as Mrs. Stump's and Miss Miller's. Consequently, Patty went and so did Mrs. Ladue and Sally. It might have been a reception, for they found there nearly the whole of the élite of Whitby and no one else, and the whole of the hospital staff were engaged in showing small parties of the aforesaid élite over the hospital and the farm connected with it. The hospital staff had no other engagements, there being no patients yet. Patty was delighted with it—and with the staff—and expressed her intention of coming out to board as soon as the spring opened. And Fox, to whom this speech was addressed—it was delivered in rather a coquettish manner, all Miss Patty's own—smiled and bowed and made no reply. Perhaps no reply was expected. Fox had heard many such remarks. He would have his patients from among the makers of them.
As soon as he could, Fox took Mrs. Ladue and Sally out over the farm. Patty was deep in conversation with Doctor Beatty. So he missed her, to his great regret, he said. But, never mind. She'll have a chance to see it. And thereupon he smiled enigmatically, and proceeded to show them what had been done. He was proud of it. When he had shown them all of it, he waved his hand toward the old cream-colored square house.
"My residence," he said. "I am afraid that it will have to remain shut up as it is, for the present. Henrietta's change of plan—or, I shouldn't say that, perhaps—her engagement knocks my scheme of things in the head. She is to be married in June, you know."
"But, Fox," Mrs. Ladue exclaimed, "surely, you don't mean that you won't open the house at all!" She was sorry for him. Why did he have to miss the satisfaction of living in his own house? Such a house, too!
He nodded. "I don't see any prospect of it," he answered, rather gloomily for him; "at least," he added, with a short laugh, "until I am married. There is really no reason for it, you know. There is likely to be room enough at this end of the establishment for some time."
It was Margaret Savage he referred to, Sally supposed. At least, Henrietta, she remembered, had said—had intimated it. Suddenly, she hated the old house.