Artists -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Love stories; Rich people -- Fiction
The doctor considered long, in silence. At last he said: "I see only
one way out. If Dal could somehow be brought to realise your point of
view at that time as a possible one, without knowing it had actually
been the cause of your refusal of him, and could have the chance to
express himself clearly on the subject--to me, for instance--in a way
which might reach you without being meant to reach you, it might put
you in a better position toward him. But it would be difficult to
manage. If you could be in close contact with his mind, constantly near
him unseen--ah, poor chap, that is easy now--I mean unknown to him; if,
for instance, you could be in the shoes of this nurse-companion person
I am sending him, and get at his mind on the matter; so that he could
feel when you eventually made your confession, he had already justified
himself to you, and thus gone behind his blindness, as it were."
Jane bounded in her chair. "Deryck, I have it! Oh, send ME as his
nurse-companion! He would never dream it was I. It is three years since
he heard my voice, and he thinks me in Egypt. The society column in all
the papers, a few weeks ago, mentioned me as wintering in Egypt and
Syria and remaining abroad until May. Not a soul knows I have come
home. You are the best judge as to whether I have had training and
experience; and all through the war our work was fully as much mental
and spiritual, as surgical. It was not up to much otherwise. Oh, Dicky,
you could safely recommend me; and I still have my uniforms stowed away
in case of need. I could be ready in twenty-four hours, and I would go
as Sister--anything, and eat in the kitchen if necessary."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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