Part 31 (1/2)
As soon as Catherine came in, he communicated to her the object of his visit.
”Mrs. King, I have brought you some good news. Your niece is now so much better that I think we ought to get her out of town as soon as we can.
That is all she wants now. She will quickly recover her health in the country.”
Catherine's face brightened up with the great joy she felt; she had been so eagerly looking forward to the time when she should have her darling all to herself again.
”I am so glad to hear this, Dr. Duncan,” she said. ”It is very kind of you to bring this news to me in person. I will take her to the sea-side without delay. When do you think she could start?”
”Very soon. But, Mrs. King, if you have no place in view to which you would like to take her, I have a suggestion to make. The sea-side is very well if you have really good lodgings; but, as a rule, you can't get the care and cooking in sea-side lodgings that I should like Miss King to have. It will not do to risk anything with her at present. Now my sister, who is a widow with two little children, lives in a cottage near Farnham, in the prettiest and healthiest part of Surrey. I have talked to her on the subject, and she would be so pleased if Mary would pay her a visit. She would get pure air and good country food there. I believe it would do her a great deal of good, far more so, indeed, than going to some strange lodging in a sea-side place. She would have pleasant society there, too, and I know that she and my sister would get on well together. Farnham is only about an hour from London, so you could easily run down and see her, and stay a few days occasionally.
Now, Mrs. King, let me persuade you, as you love your niece, to agree to this.”
Catherine first frowned, then the picture of that poor thin face rose to her mind.
”It would do her good, you think?”
”I am sure of it, and I have yet another reason for her going down there: after attacks like those your niece has suffered from, it is often advisable to change all the a.s.sociations of the patient for a time. It is better, sometimes, that there should be a complete separation from old intimates, especially relatives I think it would be unwise if you lived entirely with Miss King for the present. To see her occasionally, though, would of course do her good.”
The woman was grievously disappointed, but she said:
”Yes, I have heard that. It is hard for me to be separated from Mary; but I know it will be good for her. I will accept this kind offer of yours. You are a good man, Dr. Duncan,” she added, as he rose to shake hands with her before going. ”I am very grateful to you; and what is more, I admire and respect you. Excuse my eccentric way of putting things, but I always mean what I say, and, alas! there are very few people to whom I would say those words.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
AMONG THE GREEN LEAVES.
”Aunty Mary, are oo wicked?”
The speaker was a pretty healthy-looking boy of five.
The young girl whom he addressed as Aunty Mary was leaning back languidly in a comfortable arm-chair, which had been placed under the shade of a fine old beech-tree, standing on the lawn of a small but beautiful garden.
At the back of the lawn was a cheerful-looking little cottage, almost smothered in flowering creepers.
The girl was propped up on pillows, and there were wraps around her to protect her from the spring wind. She was evidently in a state of convalescence from a serious illness; and, indeed, she still seemed so fragile that one would have said she was hardly likely to see the ripened fruit of the blossoms that made the apple orchard beyond the garden look so lovely on that early spring day.
As she lay back, a closed book in one hand, and a bunch of violets and primroses, which the children had just brought her, in the other, her large wistful eyes were gazing pensively through an opening in the green foliage, to where below the orchards, at some distance off, there stretched a broad sheet of blue water rippling in the soft wind, surrounded by dark spreads of moor and glittering streaks of yellow sand, backed afar off by undulating hills of heather.
It was indeed a lovely view, as lovely a one as even beautiful Surrey can show. Not many Londoners know this Frensham Pond, as it is called, and all that sweet valley of the upper Wey into which its waters drain, though these are not more than thirty miles from the metropolis.
The little boy who spoke was sitting at the girl's feet with his head resting on her lap.
He had been looking up into her face for some minutes silently, in a solemn wondering manner, as she gazed over him towards the lake in an absent-minded mood.
”Aunty Mary, are oo wicked?”
”Why do you ask such a funny question?” she said as she stroked his soft curls.