"You seem mighty anxious to get rid of me," said Nick.
"I am not," she returned quickly. "I am not. You know it isn't that."
"Do I?" he said quizzically. "It's one of the few things I shouldn't
have known without being told. Well, I'm sorry I can't consent to be
sensible as you call it. I am quite sure personally that there isn't
the slightest danger. It isn't so infectious at this stage, you know.
Perhaps by-and-by, when she is through the worst, I will think about
it."
He spoke lightly, but she was aware of the anxiety that underlay the
words. She said no more, reminding herself that argument with Nick was
always futile, sometimes worse. Nevertheless she found some comfort
in the smile with which he left her. He had refused to treat with her,
but his enmity--if enmity it could be called--was no longer active. He
had proclaimed a truce which she knew he would not break.
Olga was delirious that night, and privately Muriel was glad that she
had not been able to exclude him; for his control over the child was
wonderful. As once with a tenderness maternal he had soothed her,
so now he soothed Olga, patiently, steadfastly, even with a certain
cheeriness. It all came back to her as she watched him, the strength
of the man, his selfless devotion.
She could see that both doctor and nurse thought very seriously of
the child.
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