"I know. But we must have patience a bit longer. There is a change coming. I am certain of it. But--last night has thrown her back." Scott spoke with melancholy conviction.
"You gave her the draught?" Eustace asked sharply.
"I gave her a sedative only; but it took no effect. In the middle of the morning she was still in the same unsatisfactory state, and I gave her a second sedative. After that she fell asleep, but it was not a very easy sleep for a long time. This afternoon I saw Biddy for a moment, and she told me she seemed much more comfortable. The poor old thing looked tired out, and I told her to get a rest herself. She said she would lie down in the room. If it hadn't been for this concert business, I would have relieved her. But they couldn't muster anyone to take my place. I am just going up now to see how she is getting on."
Scott straightened himself slowly, with a movement that was unconsciously very weary. Eustace gave him a keen glance.
"You're wearing yourself out over her, Stumpy," he said.
"Oh, rot!" Scott smiled upon him, a light that was boyishly affectionate in his eyes. "I'm much tougher than I look. Thanks for being decent to me, old chap! I don't deserve it. If there are any more letters to be written, bring them along, and I'll attend to them to-night after the concert."
"No. Not this lot. I shall attend to them myself." Eustace got up, and passed a hand through his arm. "You are working too hard and sleeping too little. I'm going to take you in hand and put a stop to it."
Scott laughed. "No, no! Thanks all the same, I'm better left alone. Are you coming to the show to-night? The beautiful Miss de Vigne is going to sing."
Eustace looked supercilious. "Is there anything that young lady can't do, I wonder? Her accomplishments are legion. She told me yesterday that she could play the guitar. She can also recite, play bridge, and take cricket scores. She is a scratch golf-player, plays a good game of tennis, rides to hounds, and visits the poor. And that is by no means a complete list. I don't wonder that she gives the little brown girl indigestion. Her perfection is almost nauseating at times."
Scott laughed again. It was a relief to have diverted his brother's attention from more personal subjects. "She ought to suit you rather well," he observed. "You are something of the perfect knight yourself. I heard a lady exclaim only yesterday when you started off together on that ski-ing expedition, 'What a positively divine couple! Apollo and Aphrodite!' I think it was the parson's wife. You couldn't expect her to know much about heathen theology."