When she was quite sure that he was gone she took her sister’s note from the mantelpiece and slowly broke the seal. The manservant shall bring your trunks in and pay the fare too, if you like. “He has asked to see some one,” he whispered to the doctor. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. “Time for my Patience,” she said. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture.
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