“Are you going to attend the funeral?” she asked.
“Mrs. Pelham wishes it. I would do anything to please her—poor soul.”
“What is the matter with you?” Tarbot continued. “When I speak of the funeral of a child who has died in his babyhood, a child whose life meant much and whose mother is broken-hearted, it seems strange that you should smile.”
“There are hidden nerves which one cannot always control,” said the nurse with an air of wisdom.
“Oh, come, Clara, you need not talk science to me.”
“Of course not. You know a great deal more than I do.”
“And yet you are very well informed for a nurse.”
“That is true. Remember, I was with Dr. Weismann in Paris for a year.”
“We need not say anything more about it now,” said Tarbot, rising.
“We need not,” she answered. “I know a little science, a smattering which comes in usefully on occasions. When I am your wife you will perhaps instruct me further.”
“Are you eager that I should do so—to lift the curtain more, to study the awful, the terrible problem?”
“Apart from your love, that is the one and only subject which fascinates me,” replied Nurse Ives.
“Well, well, our tastes agree in this matter. You have quite made up your mind not to take another case?”
“It seems a pity. I must be going now; I will look in again in a few days.”
“I shall not take another case, and you must not go away just yet.”
“I must. I have a patient to see at ten o’clock.”
“My dear good Clara! I, a doctor, keep a patient waiting! You forget yourself.”
“You shall not leave here,” said the woman. She drew herself up—she was tall and slender. “You shall not leave here until our wedding day is fixed. Luke, what day will you marry me?”
He gave a shudder, and this time it was perceptible. An ugly expression crossed the woman’s face, and the red scar became visible even under the cloudy mass of hair. She raised her hand impatiently and pushed back the hair. As a nurse, she always wore it smooth and plain, and in its fluffy condition it worried her.
“I keep you to your bargain,” she said. “You promised to marry me if I did what you required.”
“And, of course, I keep my word,” he answered. “But why speak of marriage just now? We can surely wait for a short time.”
“Oh, Luke, if you could but love me! Luke, bad as I am, I would make you a good wife. Bad as I am, I could be good to you. After all, are we not both outcasts? Are we not both separated from the rest of the world by the crime we have committed?”