Where others conjectured, or evaded,
he boldly affirmed. The universe to him was an open book, from which
he enjoyed reading aloud.
One morning, six weeks after the accident, Miss Lady came into his
room with a handful of flowers and found him propped up in bed, his
books about him, and a note in his hand.
"I have a communication from my cousin, Mrs. Sequin," he said with the
polite formality that was habitual to him. "It seems that she is going
to honor me with a visit."
"Mrs. Sequin?" Miss Lady wheeled so suddenly that she overturned the
vase in which she was arranging the flowers. "Now see what I've done!
I'll fix it, Miss Wuster; don't bother."
It apparently required little self-control for the trained nurse to
refrain from bothering. She was sitting with her heels firmly hooked
under the rung of a straight-back chair, crocheting with passionate
abandon. Filling hot-water bottles, taking temperatures, feeding
patients, were mere interruptions to her real vocation of converting
spools of linen thread into yards of linen lace.
"She states her intention of coming to see me," the Doctor continued,
"but I cannot decipher her hieroglyphics sufficiently to find out the
time.
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