Lucy, generally awakened by these queries, always answered, “No, thank you.”
After midnight, however, Mrs. Merwent slept soundly, and Lucy attended to her own needs.
XXVI
It was late the next morning when Nannie awoke, and Lucy had already combed her own hair and arranged herself for the day. Dr. Hamilton came in before Mrs. Merwent was dressed and there was a scurrying when she ran to her own room as she heard him on the stairs.
“You will be all right, now, Mrs. Winter,” he announced, after listening to her heart. “I advise you, however, to spend a few days in bed so as to insure against a repetition of this business. I won’t come any more unless you need me.” He turned to John, who stood by the bed. “You use your marital authority and make her keep still, Mr. Winter.”
“All right, Doctor,” promised John.
When John was ready to leave for the office he came in, hat in hand, and stood by Lucy’s bed.
“Goodbye, Lucy. I’m going down town.”
“Goodbye,” she answered listlessly.
After looking at her a moment, he went out. He reached the office later than usual.
“Anything wrong?” inquired Jim, looking up from his desk as John entered.
“Lucy’s not very well.” John hung up his coat and stood by his desk, fitting a pen into a holder.
Jim watched his face with growing anxiety.
“She’s not seriously sick, is she?” Jim tried to control his voice but it was unsteady in spite of him.
“I don’t know,” John answered, his eyes on what he was doing.
Jim said no more, but he remained a long time eyeing the plan of a building before him, his pencil idle in his hand. After a time, he rose.
“I’m going to dictate a letter to Miss Burns,” he remarked, referring to the public stenographer whose office was only a few doors down the hall.
Jim went to Miss Burns’ room but, finding her occupied, paced the corridor for a quarter of an hour or more. When he finally went back to John his manner displayed none of the agitation which had been apparent while he was alone.
“I’m going out to Rosedene with you tonight, if you don’t mind, John. I’m worried about what you say about Lucy,” he announced as he reseated himself and began to work.
John hesitated perceptibly before he replied.
“All right,” he conceded somewhat ungraciously.
At one o’clock Katy brought up Lucy’s luncheon. During the course of the morning Mrs. Merwent had been to the bedroom several times to make inquiries regarding her daughter’s condition, but Lucy, a cloth wet with eau de cologne on her forehead, her eyes closed defensively, had made barely audible replies to her mother’s interrogations. Nannie, on these occasions, patted the bed clothes, raised and lowered the window shades, and set to rights Lucy’s bureau and washstand, but, finding no further excuses for lingering, was finally obliged to leave the invalid in peace.
When Nannie reentered the room early in the afternoon Lucy started to rise.
“Don’t get up. I only wanted to ask you a question,” began Nannie. “Why, Lucy, you have been crying again.”
“I still have a very bad headache,” interrupted Lucy.
“You ought to control yourself and not give way to this abnormal melancholy.” Nannie’s tone was virtuous.
Lucy rose and stood looking at her mother.
“It’s about a pudding,” resumed Nannie. “I’m making it for dinner—that baked lemon custard you used to make at home; you remember. Do you use one dozen eggs, or two?”
“It depends on how much custard you want to make,” said Lucy.
“Oh, well—you know what I mean—enough for our family.”
“I should use five eggs,” Lucy replied, holding one hand to her drawn forehead.
“Wait a minute till I put it down.” Mrs. Merwent wrote on a scrap of paper which she had brought with her.
“And how many lemons?”
“Two.”
“And two cups of sugar?”
“No, three fourths of a cup.”
“Why don’t you call me by my name, Lucy? Anyone would think you were talking to one of the tradesmen. You’re so brusque and curt. It makes me feel like I had done something terrible.”
“Is that all?” demanded Lucy.
“Why, yes—no—let’s see. Two cups of sugar?”
“Three fourths of a cup,” repeated Lucy.
“Wait a minute. I think I’ll just have Katy bring the things up here, so you can show me how to do it.” And Nannie ran downstairs, returning, followed by the old negress who was panting from the exertion of her hasty ascent to the upper floor, her arms laden with bowls and pans.
Katy went back to the kitchen twice to bring the full assortment of ingredients and utensils.
“Now,” said Nannie, when she had completed the mixing of the pudding under Lucy’s direction, “I hope it’ll be good. What are you wrinkling up your forehead so for, Lucy? Does your head still ache?”
“Yes.” Lucy answered.
“Law’s sakes, Miss Nannie, dere wa’n’t no sense in pesterin’ Miss Lucy wid dat ’ere custard at all. I cu’d ’a’ done it mase’f. I done made ’em a thousand times.” Old Katy glanced anxiously at Lucy’s pale face.
“You just attend to what you’re told, Katy, and don’t give advice when you’re not asked for it,” Nannie retorted pettishly.
“Yes, Miss Nannie. Suttenly, Miss Nannie. I didn’t mean no ha’m,” Katy apologized, beginning to carry the dishes and materials back to the kitchen.
“Now I must go down and see that it doesn’t burn,” remarked Mrs. Merwent, bustling out the door. “I won’t be long,” she called back as she descended the stairs.
Lucy rubbed her head again with eau de cologne, lay down on the bed and placed a cloth wet with cold water over her eyes. The afternoon was dull and cloudy and it soon began to rain. Soothed by the patter of drops on the tiled roof of the veranda just outside her window, she gradually relaxed and dozed lightly, but her peace was not for long. In a short time Nannie appeared again. As Lucy heard footsteps in the hall she removed the cloth from her eyes.
“Lucy, I wanted to ask you if you
