compromised by saying
that the nurse he had in mind was for the moment Aunt Lucile and the
doctor their father.

With an alternation of truculence and cajolery, he had got her to lie
down and to promise not to talk--that was the important thing--and this
accomplished he devoted half an hour to the composition of a note to Miss
Wollaston (whom it was difficult to tell anything to over the telephone,
particularly with long distance rural connections) which he despatched,
in charge of Pete, in the big car. Pete would get back with her by three
at the latest.

Rush then had a long talk by telephone with his father at Ravinia. Mary
didn't know, of course, what they had said, beyond that John had promised
to come down immediately after lunch, but she got the idea that the
professional medical attitude had been one of less alarm than the amateur
one. Mary confessed to March, with a flicker of ironic amusement, that
she had supported this lighter view so successfully that, a little before
noon, Rush had confided to her his wish--if she were perfectly sure she
didn't need him--to take the one o'clock train to Lake Geneva. He and
Graham were still expected there for the week-end and on a good many
accounts it would be well if he didn't fail them. He dreaded going, of
course, but he felt he could meet the situation better on the ground
whatever turned up. He could wait for the three o'clock train, but this
was the one Mr. Stannard always took and he'd like to get in a talk with
Sylvia first. She was a great pal of her brother's and might well have
some real information about He'd have Pete's wife come in and look after
Mary--get lunch and so on. And father would be down about two.

March thought the forlorn smile with which she told him this the most
heart-breaking thing he had ever seen. Damn Rush! Damn all the
sentimentalists in the world. Dressing up their desires in altruistic
clothes. Loving themselves in a lot of crooked mirrors!

The rest of the story told itself in very few words. John Wollaston
telephoned, about three, from Ravinia, to say that Paula wasn't
well--meant to sing to-night as she was billed to do (she took great
pride in never disappointing her audiences)--but very much wanted him at
hand through the ordeal. If Mary was feeling as much better as her voice
sounded would she mind his not coming until to-morrow morning.

She'd assured him, of course, that she wouldn't mind a bit. Aunt Lucile
hadn't arrived