Should you require more, as
I have said, I shall be pleased to send it to you."
He uttered the last sentence as if it ended the matter, and Nan found
herself unable to say more. To have expressed any gratitude would have
been an absolute impossibility at that moment.
She lay, therefore, in quivering silence until he spoke again.
"It is time for me to be going. I hope the injury to your arm will
progress quite satisfactorily. You will not be able to write to me
yourself at present, but your sister Mona has promised to let me hear
of you by every mail. Dr. Barnard will also write."
He paused. But Nan said nothing whatever. She was wondering, with a fiery
embarrassment, what form his farewell would take.
After a brief silence he rose.
"Good-bye, then!" he said.
He bent low over her, looking closely into her unwilling face. And
then--it was the merest touch--for the fraction of a second his lips were
on her forehead.
"Good-bye!" he said again, under his breath, and in another moment she
heard his soft tread as he went away.
Her heart was throbbing madly; she felt as if it were leaping up and down
within her. For a space she lay listening, every nerve upon the stretch.
Then at last there came to her the sound of voices raised in farewell,
the crunch of wheels below her window, the loud banging of a door. And
with a gasp she turned her face into her pillow, and wept for sheer
relief.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144