"I will go this afternoon at tea-time, Arabella, if you can assure me
there won't be any horrid smell of carbolic or nasty drugs about--I know
there always are when people have cuts to be dressed, and I really could
not stand it. It would give me one of my bad attacks of nerves."
And Miss Clinker was reluctantly obliged to assure her employer that
those days were passed, and that Mr. Derringham now only looked a pale,
but very interesting invalid, as he lay there with a black silk
handkerchief tied round his head.
"Then I'll go," said Mrs. Cricklander--and, instead of sending the
message with her daily flowers, she wrote a tiny note.
I can't bear it any longer--I must come!
CECELIA.
Arabella Clinker watched his face as he read this, and saw a flush grow
in his ivory-pale skin.
"Oh! Poor Mr. Derringham!" she thought, "it isn't fair! How can he hold
out against her when he is so weak--what ought I to do? If I only knew
what is my loyal course!"
Arabella was perfectly aware how the reports of his rapid recovery had
been circulated--and guessed the reason--and all her kind woman's heart
was touched as she watched him lying there in splints, as pitiful and
helpless as a baby.
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