In a week or two I
hope she'll be able to move."
"How's every one else?"
"Oh, well enough." Mrs. Brockett straightened her dress with her beautiful
hands in the old familiar way-- "But you're not looking very hearty
yourself, Mr. Peter."
"Oh! I'm all right," he answered smiling; but she shook her head after him
as she watched him go up the stairs.
And then he was surprised. He came into Norah Monogue's room and found her
sitting up by her window, looking better than he had ever seen her. Her
face was full of colour and her eyes bright and smiling. Only on her hands
the blue veins stood out, and their touch, when she shook hands with him,
was hot and burning.
But he was reassured; Mrs. Brockett had exaggerated and made the worst of
it all.
"You're looking splendid--I'm so glad. I was afraid from your letter-"
"Oh! I really am getting on," she broke in gaily, "and it's the nicest boy
in the world that you are to come in and see me so quickly. Only on a day
like this London does just lie heavily upon one doesn't it? and one just
longs for the country--"
A little breath of a sigh escaped from her and she looked through her
window at the dim chimneys, the clouds hanging like consolidated smoke, the
fine, thin dust that filtered the air.
"You're looking tired yourself, Peter. Working too hard?"
"No," he shook his head.
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