Conduct of life -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Physicians -- Fiction
With that expression of approval he left her and returned to his
mother. Mary, unable to complete her toilette, not knowing from minute
to minute when she might be called, occupied herself in righting the
disorder of the room. She had thrown on a loosely-fitting morning dress
of cashmere, one of the first things that she had made after she was
installed here. An instant; she had snatched to dip her face in water,
but she had been able to do little to her hair, the coil of which still
retained much of the scattered; softness of the night, and after Ellen
came back from the chemist's she sent her upstairs for some; hairpins.
She stood on the hearth, before the looking-glass, shaking the mass of
hair about her shoulders, and then with uplifted arms winding it deftly
on her head. The supple femininity of the attitude, so suggestive of
recent rising, harmonised with the earliness of the sunshine that
tinged the parlour; and when Kincaid reentered and found her so, he
could not but be sensible of the impression, though he was indisposed
to dwell upon it.
She looked round quickly:
"How is Mrs. Kincaid, doctor?"
"I'm very uneasy about her. I'm going back to the hospital now to
arrange to stay here."
"What do you think has caused it?"
"I'm afraid she got damp and cold in the garden on Sunday."
"And it has gone to the lungs?"
"It has affected the left lung, yes."
She dropped the last hairpin, and as she stooped for it the swirl of
the gown displayed a bare instep.
"I can help to nurse her, unless you'd rather send someone else?"
"You'll do very well, I think," he said; and he proceeded to give her
some instructions.
She fulfilled these instructions with a capability he found
astonishing. Before the day had worn through he perceived that, however
her training had been acquired, he possessed in her a coadjutrix
reliable and adroit. To herself, she was once more within her native
province, but to him it was as if she had become suddenly voluble in a
foreign tongue. He had no inclination to meditate upon her skill--to
meditate about her was the last thing that he desired now--but there
were moments when her performance of some duty supplied fresh food for
wonder notwithstanding, and he noted her dexterity with curious eyes.
He had, though, refrained from any further praise. The gratitude that
he might have spoken was checked by the aloofness of her manner; and,
in the closer association consequent upon the illness, the formality
that had sprung up between them suffered no decrease. Indeed it became
permanent in this contact, which both would have shunned.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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