Part 21 (1/2)

They got Alma to bed, and in a few moments after her head had sunk into the cool pillow, she had dozed off into a heavy sleep. Nancy tried to conceal her uneasiness, but Alma had a fever of a hundred and one, which is not common to a simple headache.

But the visit from Dr. Bevan, cheerful as he was, did anything but set their fears at rest.

Nancy could only stare from him to her mother in speechless consternation, when it developed next day that Alma had the measles beyond a doubt. In the morning Mr. Dixon and the Porterbridges were notified that the Prescotts could not be at their work. The situation was indeed a pretty serious crisis in their career; for their income was reduced at once by something over a hundred dollars a month. This worry, however, was completely dwarfed when, on the third day after Alma had fallen ill, Dr. Bevan announced that he thought it best to send a trained nurse.

Nancy had had about all that she could bear, and without saying another word, rushed off, to bury her face in the sofa cus.h.i.+ons, and smother her frantic sobs from her mother's ears. It seemed to her absolutely certain that Alma was going to die, and her mind filled with little forgotten memories, each of which stabbed her with an agonizing pang of misery.

The nurse, a very tall, strong, rosy woman named Miss Tracy, arrived about noon-time and, quickly changing into her stiff white uniform, ordered Mrs. Prescott off to lie down, telling Nancy that there was no need for either of them to worry. Her presence, her brisk, thorough, confident manner, lifted a hundred pounds from their hearts, and for the first time in three days they drew a breath of relief. Mrs.

Prescott, who sadly needed sleep, lay down in her own room, and Nancy, who had not been out of the house since Alma had fallen ill, took a book and went out onto the porch to free her mind of worries that seemed to have dulled her thoughts. Everything had become so complicated, it was so utterly impossible to know what was to be done, that she felt as if it were no use worrying, as if something unforeseen would have to happen to solve difficulties that were absolutely beyond their power to solve. And so she merely wondered idly how the nurse's bills and the doctor's bills were to be paid. And finally, the warm air and the whirr of the lawn-mower, and the sleepy hum in the vines, made her drowsy; her eyelids fell, opened, and then closed again.

”Oh, yes, I'm a very great man. I know the King of England intimately,” someone who did not look at all _like_ Mr. Arnold, a fat, pompous-looking man with mutton-chop whiskers, who, however, was Mr.

Arnold, kept repeating to her; and she kept wondering, ”Why did I think he was so nice? Why did I think he was good-looking?”

Then all at once she heard someone coming up the wooden steps of the porch. She sat bolt upright, putting hasty hands to her tumbled, curly hair, and with dazed, sleepy eyes stared at the newcomer with a positively unintelligent expression of amazement. At length she articulated, in an almost reproachful tone:

”I thought you were in Europe. You _were_ in Europe.”

”Yes. But one doesn't have to stay in Europe, you know, unless they put you in jail over there, and I always try to avoid that,” returned Mr. Arnold pleasantly.

”But you've been there for months,” said Nancy, quite aware that she wasn't talking perfectly good sense. And then they both burst out laughing.

”Alma is ill,” Nancy told him. ”She has measles, and we are in quarantine, so you ought to go away.”

He looked at her tired face, where the strain of fear and trouble showed in her pale cheeks and heavy eyes, and then he smiled in his warm, understanding way, and said gently:

”You've been worried to death about something, haven't you, Nancy?

Well, I'm not going to ask you any questions now, only, whenever you feel that you want to, remember that you can tell me anything. Would you rather I went away now and came back later on, when you are less troubled? Is there anything I can do?”

”Oh, don't go away--I mean, it's very nice to see you. Alma has a nurse now, and I think she is going to be better soon--and it's so _cheerful_ to see you!”

”Does Mr. Prescott know of Alma's illness?” he asked, after a moment's hesitation. ”I don't think my aunt does. She has just come back. I landed the day before yesterday, and came down here last night. I--I asked her about you all, and she said nothing about Alma's being ill.”

”No, I don't suppose Uncle Thomas does know,” answered Nancy. ”He comes over to see us every now and then, but then again he'll shut himself up for quite a long while, and I don't think he knows what we are doing any more than we know what he's doing.”

”You know I'm buying a house here in Melbrook,” said Mr. Arnold, rather irrelevantly. ”A very nice house--do you know that yellow one, with the white columns and the porte-cochere over on Tindale Road?”

”I do know the one you mean,” cried Nancy. ”It's a beauty. There's the loveliest old-fas.h.i.+oned garden----”

”That's it--that's the one. I--you're sure you like it?”

For some reason or other Nancy turned pink at this simple question, and tried to stammer a casual reply. Then he went on serenely:

”I expect to have it in pretty good shape in a week or two, and when your sister is better, I'd love to have you and your mother and Alma come over and have tea with me. Aunt Eliza is directing the furnis.h.i.+ng and all that--she's quite in her element, but I'd love to have your expert advice too. Heavens, _I_ don't know anything about chintz, and scrim, and all that sort of foolishness.”

He chatted along, telling her about his trip, recounting amusing little incidents of the things that had happened on the boat, and completely carrying her thoughts away from her own personal affairs. But after a little while she began to notice that he was really not thinking about what he was saying, that he seemed to have something on his mind, which he was always on the point of saying, and then veered off to something else. All at once he got up and remarked abruptly:

”What the d.i.c.kens do I care personally for chintzes and scrim? I don't know which is which.” Nancy stared at him, thinking that he had taken leave of his senses. He rammed his long, brown hands fiercely into the pockets of his gray trousers, took them out again, and thrust them into the pockets of his coat; then, as if he had taken a deep breath, and was holding it, he said:

”Will you marry me, Nancy?”