England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction
'I forgot papa,' in a conscience-stricken tone. 'I am always forgetting
something.'
'Yes, and yourself in the bargain,' smiling at her earnest
self-depreciation.
'No, please don't laugh, Aunt Milly, it was dreadfully careless of
me--what should we all do without you to remind us of things? Of course
papa must be my first thought, unless--unless dear Rex is very ill,' and
a flush of pain passed over Olive's sallow face.
Mildred melted over this fresh instance of Olive's unselfish goodness;
she wrapped her arms fondly round the girl.
'Dear Olive, this is so good of you!'
'No, it is only my duty,' but the tears started to her eyes.
'If I did not think it were, I would not have proposed it,' she
returned, reluctantly; 'but you know how little care your father takes
of himself, and then he will fret so about Roy when Richard is away. I
never like to leave him.'
'Do not say any more, Aunt Milly; nothing but real positive danger to
Roy would induce me to leave him.'
'No, I knew I could trust you,' drawing a relieved breath; 'but, indeed,
I have no such fear for Rex. Mrs. Madison says it was only a slight
attack of inflammation, and that it has quite subsided. He will be
dreadfully weak, of course, and that is why the doctor has sent for us;
he will want weeks of nursing.'
'And you will not take Polly or Chriss. Remember how far from strong you
are, and Rex is so exacting when he is ill.'
'Chriss would be no use to me, and Polly's place is here,' was Mildred's
quiet answer as she went on with her preparations for the next day's
journey; but she little knew of the tenacity with which Polly clave to
her purpose.
When Dr. Heriot came in that afternoon for his last professional chat
with Mildred, he found her looking open-eyed and anxious in the midst of
business, reading out a list for Olive, who was writing patiently from
her dictation; Polly was crouched up by the fire doing nothing; she had
not spoken to any one since the morning; she hardly raised her head when
he came in.
Mildred explained the reason of their unusual bustle in her clear,
succinct way. Roy was ill, how ill she could not say. Mr. Lambert had
had a touch of gout last night, and dared not run the risk of a journey
just now. Olive must stop with her father, at least for the present; and
as Chriss was too young to be of the least possible use, she was going
alone. Polly's name was not mentioned. Dr. Heriot looked blank at the
tidings.
'Alone, and in your state of health! why, where is Polly? she is a
capital nurse; she is worth a score of others; she will keep up your
spirits, save you fatigue, and cheer up Roy in his convalescence.'
'You cannot spare her; Polly's place is here,' replied Mildred,
nervously; but to her surprise Polly interrupted her.
'That is not the reason, Aunt Milly.'
'My dear Polly!' exclaimed Dr. Heriot, amazed at the contradiction.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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