Part 40 (1/2)
The somewhat drawling tones of Miss Watkins' voice were not at all in keeping with the activity of her wide-awake blue eyes. A sense of this nurse's speculation as to her presence there flicked Desire with little whips of irritation. It is one thing to observe and quite another to render oneself observable. She felt the blood flow hotly to her cheek.
Why had she come? How could she have so far forgotten her natural reserve, her instinctive dislike of intrusion? Desire saw plainly that she had allowed a regrettable sentiment to trick her into a ridiculous situation. Satisfied curiosity is usually ashamed of itself.
And how absurd to have fancied for a moment that this blond prettiness could be Mary!
”I am afraid I cannot wait longer,” she murmured with polite regret.
”If there is any message--”
”None, I think. Thank you so much.”
With the departure of her caller, Miss Watkins' manner underwent a remarkable change. Professional coolness deserted her. She stamped her foot and, from the safe concealment of the window curtain, she watched Desire's unhurried progress down the street with eyes in which the blue grew clouded and opaque. They brightened again as she noticed Professor Spence pa.s.sing on the opposite side of the street, and became quite snappy with interest as she saw him pause as if to call to his wife, then, after a swift and hesitating glance at the door from which she had emerged, pa.s.s on without attracting her attention.
As a bit of pure pantomime, these expressions of feeling on Miss Watkins' part might be misleading with-out the added comment of a letter which she wrote that night.
”I'm going to cut it, Flossy old girl,” wrote Miss Watkins. ”If you know of anything near you that would suit me, pa.s.s it on. I think I'm about due to get out of here. You know why I've stayed so long. At first, I thought if we were together enough he might get to care.
People say I'm not bad for the eyes. And I don't use peroxide. Well, I've made myself useful--he'll miss me anyway!
”It's kind of hard to give up. But I don't believe it's a bit of use.
I've noticed a difference in him ever since he came back from that western trip. He doesn't seem to see me anymore. And there's something else, a look in his eyes and a line along his mouth that were never there before. I knew something had happened. And now I know what it was. Another girl, of course.
”And this girl is married!
”You might think this would make things hopeful for me. But it doesn't.
Doctor's just the kind that would go on loving her if she had a thousand husbands. So here's where I hook it. No use wasting myself, honey. Maybe I'll get over it. They say everyone does.
”Funny thing--she's just the kind I'd think he'd go dippy over, dark and still, with a lovely, wide mouth and skin like lilies. She is young, younger than I am. But, believe me, she isn't a kid. Those eyes of hers have seen things. They're the kind of eyes that I'd go wild over if I were a man. So I'm not blaming Doctor. He can't help it.
”She came into the office today, just like an ordinary patient. But I knew right off that she'd come for some-thing. Don't know yet what she came for. She doesn't give herself away, that one! Didn't seem to look around, didn't ask questions and only stayed a few minutes. Do you suppose she could have come to see me? Because, if she did--Well, that shows where her interest is.
”Another odd thing--as she went out, I saw her husband. (I'll tell you, in strict confidence, that her husband is Professor Spence. They are well known people here. He used to be a sort of recluse. A queer chap.
Deep as a judge.) Well, I saw him pa.s.s, on the opposite side of the road. He saw her and was just going to call, when it seemed to strike him where she had come from. I couldn't see very well across the road, but he looked as if someone had hit him. And he went on without saying a word. Now that looked queer to me.
”Don't write and say that I'm only guessing at things. I may be mistaken, of course, but I know I'm not. And I'm not a Pharisee (or whoever it was that threw stones). If she cares for Doctor, I suppose she can't help it. Some people think her husband handsome but I don't.
He's too thin and he has the oddest little smile. It slips out and slips in like a mouse. When Dr. John smiles, he smiles all over.
”Well, I'll wait a week or so to make sure. Although I'm sure now. If I ever see Doctor look at her, I'll know. You see, I know how he'd look if he looked that way. I've kept hoping--but I guess I'd better take my ticket, Yours,
”MARY.”
This letter satisfactorily explains the loss, some weeks later, of Dr.
Rogers' capable nurse--a matter which he, himself, could never understand.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Desire was smiling as she left Dr. Rogers' office. It was a smile compounded of derision and relief--a shamefaced smile which admitted an opinion of herself very far from flattering.