'Yes, some years. She certainly did.'
'Deeply attached, then,' said Ethel. 'And you come along. I suppose she's transferred . . .'
Mr. Gibson moved his head inquiringly.
'Father-image,' said Ethel.
He lowered his eyelids.
'She claims you saved her life and reason,' Ethel went on. 'I wouldn't be surprised, either. It would be just like you.'
'In loco parentis?' said Mr. Gibson lightly.
'That's obvious enough,' said Ethel carelessly, 'to anyone who knows even the rudiments of psychology. Well, good luck to you both.'
'She is a dear girl,' said Mr. Gibson quietly.
'I'm sure she is,' said Ethel in her indulgent way. 'And you are rather a dear, yourself. Well, here I am.
Got a month's leave of absence and all set to take over.'
'So good,' he murmured, feeling very tired.
'Your house is cute as a button, Ken, but it sure is a long haul on that bus. Give me three thousand miles on a nice safe airplane. Bus drivers are such a ruthless breed. The insensitive way they slam two tons of juggernaut through the innocent streets. Terrifies me.'
'Terrifies you!' He rallied to tease and praise her. 'Come now, not Ethel the intrepid! How are you, my dear?'
'A little fed up,' she said frankly. 'A little tired of the subway. In fact, Ken, I'm thinking I rather like your climate.' She lifted her strong chin.
'Gk>od,' he said. 'We'll make a native of you in six weeks.'
'Well, we'll see. Now, what do you want? What can I bring you? What shall I do for you?'
His heart, which had shriveled a little, let go and expanded. 'Be here,' he begged. 'Live in my house. Take care of Rosemary for me.'
'Can do,' said Ethel, and he relaxed against his sense of her strength. 'Poor old boy,' she said lovingly. 'We are not—are we?—getting any younger. . . . Although you are the smart one.'
'I?'
'To live as you do. Right out of the rat race. Letting the world go by. I think I'll resign from the fray myself. And acquire innocence.'
'Innocence?'
'Dear old Ken,' she said. 'You and your poetry.'
Late that very afternoon the hospital discharged Rosemary.
'After all,' said Ethel cheerily, 'there are so few beds and so many people so much worse off. And I am here to take care of Rosemary. If I had realized, I could have brought her clothing . . . but no matter. We'll take a taxi.'
To Mr. Gibson her voice was patter . . . patter he scarcely heard. His attention was bent upon his wife Rosemary, upon the state of her body and her soul.
There she was, standing at the foot of his bed, wearing the white dress with the red flowers on it, and dirt)' and crumpled the dress was. She hugged around her the red
stole. Her face was too pale for the strong red that wrapped her.
'Are you sure . . .?' said he. He didn't think she looked well enough to go out of the hospital.
'I'm so sorry,' burst Rosemary. 'So sorry! Oh, Kenneth, I wish it had been me. I'd have done anything in the world rather than hurt you . . .' She was quivering with the need to say this.
'Oh, come now,' said Mr. Gibson in some alarm. 'We had an accident. Now, mouse . . . it's nothing to worry about.' He thought. It's set her back, alas. 'Here's Ethel come all this way,' he soothed . . . 'Your sister, Rosemary.' (He had to give her something. He gave her Ethel.) 'The two of you are going to have a fine time.' He looked as bright and easy as he could. 'I just have to lie here with my leg hung up like the Monday wash— until the bones take a notion to mend. But it will mend—'
He had coaxed no smile. Rosemary said, 'I turned to the left, you see. I thought ...'
'You are not to blame,' said Ethel a little loudly and very firmly. 'There is no blame.'
'Of course not,' cried Mr. Gibson, appalled at this, 'Of course you are not to blame! What an idea! Now, Rosemary, don't think about it. Please. Just wipe it out of your mind. Be like me. I don't remember a thing about it, you know. Just whammo . . . and here I am.' He smiled at her.
'Don't you?' she said a little pathetically. She moistened her lips. 'How do you feel?'
'I feel ridiculous,' he said crisply, 'and pretty undignified, believe me.' But he was powerless to reach behind that white-faced stare. He feared she was still shocked, still fighting against the fact of the accident, still trying to wish it away. 'Take her home, Ethel,' he begged. 'Now Rosemary, I want you to do as Ethel says. I want you to rest.'
'Yes. I will, Kenneth. I wasn't hurt at all.'
'Good night, then,' he said gently. 'And Ethel, you take care of her.' (He thought. Oh yes, she has been hurt. She has been set back. Oh, too bad!) He said aloud, 'I want you to be well, Rosemary?'
