"We must have a nurse," he said briefly. "We shall manage all right
then. I'll do my turn. Oh, stuff!" at a look from the doctor. "I
sha'n't hurt. I'm much too tough a morsel for microbes to feed on."
Possibly the doctor shared this opinion, for he made no verbal
protest. It fell to Muriel to do this later in the day when the nurse
was installed, and she was at liberty to leave Olga's room. Nick
had just returned from the post-office whence he had been sending a
message to the child's father. She came upon him stealing up to take a
look at her. Seeing Muriel he stopped. "How is she?"
Muriel moved away to an open window at the end of the passage before
she made reply. He followed her, and they stood together, looking out
upon the sunset.
"The fever is very high," she said. "And she is suffering a good deal
of pain. She is not quite herself at times."
"You mean she is worse?" He looked at her keenly.
It was exactly what she did mean. Olga had been growing steadily worse
all day. Yet when abruptly he turned to leave her, Muriel laid a hasty
hand upon his arm.
"Nick," she said, and her voice was almost imploring, "don't go in!
Please don't go in!"
He stopped short. "Why not?"
She removed her hand quickly. "It's so dangerous--besides being
unnecessary. Won't you be sensible about it?"
He gave his head a queer upward jerk, and stood as one listening, not
looking at her.
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