And a slim young nurse stood beside him, cool and composed in
her immaculate uniform, watching the play of light and shadow on a woman
who lay asleep on the couch, fresh, young face flushed and upturned, a
child's doll cradled between arm and breast.
* * * * *
"How long has she been asleep?" asked Selwyn under his breath.
"An hour. She fretted a good deal because you had not come. This
afternoon she said she wished to drive, and I had the phaeton brought
around; but when she saw it she changed her mind. I was rather afraid of
an outburst--they come sometimes from less cause than that--so I did not
urge her to go out. She played on the piano for a long while, and sang
some songs--those curious native songs she learned in Manila. It seemed
to soothe her; she played with her little trifles quite contentedly for
a time, but soon began fretting again, and asking why you had not come.
She had a bad hour later--she is quite exhausted now. Could you stay
to-night, Captain Selwyn?"
"Y-es, if you think it better.
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