He drank a glass himself before returning to her.
"Thanks. You take very good care of me." And she gave him the
gracious smile of a grateful patient.
"I don't think you'd better go out any more at night for a while.
You are far from well, you know, and you're not picking up."
"A call for you, I suppose. Too bad."
There had been a peremptory knock on the door. A coachman stood
without. Would Dr. Talbot come at once? A new San Franciscan was
imminent via Mrs. Alexander Groome on Ballinger Hill.
The doctor grumbled.
"And raining cats and dogs. Why couldn't she wait until tomorrow?
We'll probably get stuck in the mud. Damn women and their everlasting
babies."
She helped him into his overcoat and wished him a pleasant good-night.
It was long since she had lifted her cheek for his old hasty kiss,
and he made no protest. He had time on his side.
She did not return to her embroidery frame but stood for several
moments looking at the chest near the fireplace. She had not opened
it since Masters left. His library had been packed and sent after him
by one of his friends, but no one had known of the books in her
possession. Masters certainly had not thought of them and she was in
no condition to remember them herself at the time.
She had not dared to look at them! Tonight, however, she moved
slowly toward the chest.
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