  At last Herman Medfield was ready to leave the Berkeley House of Mercy. He stood on the top step, looking contentedly down at the car that waited for him. The chauffeur glanced up and caught sight of him and sprang up the steps. "Can I help you, sir?" He offered a helpful arm. But Medfield motioned it aside. "I'm all right, Buckman.... I'm quite myself, thank you. I am waiting for some one——" He glanced toward the door. "Some one is coming—with me." The chauffeur returned to his car, standing immovable, and the master of the car waited on the steps.... There had been a dozen things to do. Aunt Jane had insisted on his seeing Mrs. Pelton, and there had been delays. And at the last minute, Aunt Jane had disappeared in her office for something. He turned toward the door. She was coming. The door opened and Aunt Jane stood in it, smiling and competent—in her cap. He flashed a look at it. "You're not coming?" It was disappointed and vexed. "Yes, I'm coming." Her face was pleased. "You've forgotten your bonnet," he laughed. "Oh—I don't need a bonnet." She went slowly down the steps. "I never wear a bonnet when I go with a patient." She looked back to him. "You want me to help you?" He came quickly down with a laugh and placed her in the car. "I don't want anything—except to get home!" he said exultantly. The chauffeur slammed the door. Aunt Jane beamed on her patient. "I thought you'd be ready to go—when the time came," she said philosophically. "I'm happy. I don't want anything but what I've got—right here!" He was looking at the face in its cap. Aunt Jane transferred her gaze to the window, watching the houses slide by, and the And the car bore her onward without a jolt or jar, as she sat competently erect; and Herman Medfield, leaning back against the cushions, relaxed to the motion, and watched her pleasure, happily.... There were many things he could give her. He was glad he was a rich man. The car flashed them through the maze of streets and in through the great gate that formed the entrance to the Medfield estate; and Aunt Jane looked out, with pleased eyes, on trees and shrubs and on a wide soft greenness of turf, and little open vistas shining out as they passed them. "I always heard it was a nice place!" she said contentedly. "I knew you would like it!" replied Medfield. Aunt Jane turned her glance on him. "Anybody would be pretty hard to please that didn't like this," she said simply and returned to her window. He smiled a contented, thoughtful smile. "Here we are! Home at last—!" He held up a hand to her as she stepped out. "It has been a long time!" He was looking toward the entrance. "Yes— You've been away a good while." She moved tranquilly beside him, up the low steps into the hall. "Now, I'll make you comfortable." She was looking about her. "And then I must go back. We'd better tell the man to wait—" she turned toward the door. "We'll call him up," said Medfield quickly. "He's gone— And I want to give you tea and show you my rose-garden—we'll have tea out there——" "If it isn't too damp," said Aunt Jane. "What do I care!" He was impatient. "Dr. Carmon said you'd have to be careful." She spoke the name with authority and a look of vexation crossed Medfield's face. "Bother! Well—I shall be careful! You won't let me do anything rash!" "No, I'll try not to—you don't think you'd better go to bed, do you?" "I do not!" And he took the situation into his own hands and showed Aunt Jane through the house; and she admired it all, and liked the flowers growing in little pots in the drawing-room windows. "This would be a good place to have your tea," she remarked. "We are going outdoors," he said obstinately—and there was a long, low rumble somewhere— "What's that?" He had started. "Sounds like thunder," said Aunt Jane. She moved over to the window. "Yes—looks as if we were going to have a shower—a hard one. I thought I felt like it." She sat down placidly. Lightning played through the room, with fantastic touches on the chairs and tables and on the little growing plants in the windows. "I guess we'll have tea indoors." She beamed on him. He laughed out with vexation and rang the bell and ordered tea and had a fire made on the great open hearth. He drew up a chair before it for Aunt Jane and made her comfortable. There was nothing of the invalid in the slim, quick-moving, aristocratic figure. He was playing the host with happy face. "I declare—you look real well!" said Aunt Jane, watching him. "Oh, I'm well—I'm happy!" he replied. Something in the voice arrested her, and she turned away. "I wouldn't be too happy—not the first day or so," she said softly. "Do you mean to spoil it?" He came and stood by the fire and looked down at her sternly. "No—I shan't spoil anything—" A crash of thunder filled the air, and the room grew dark. Little sulphurous lights played in it—and withdrew, dancing across the potted plants. "Here's your tea!" said Aunt Jane out of the subsiding din. "Put it here, Henry." Medfield rolled a little table in front of Aunt Jane and watched the man as he set it down. He ran an eye over the tray—— "That's all right. I'll set it out. You draw the curtains and light the candles." He motioned the man aside and arranged the dishes himself, setting the toast in front of the fire and placing the cups and plates with swift touch. "There you are!" He had taken the chair opposite her and he looked across with happy eyes. "This is all right!" he said. The man had left the room; the crashing thunder was shut behind the heavy curtains, the candles shone down on them, and the firelight played across the table. It shone on Aunt Jane's face. "You have a nice home," she said safely. She lifted a napkin from her plate. "Mercy—what's this!" She peered at the thin blue strip of paper that fluttered from under the napkin. She took it up and read it—and laid it down hastily. "It's for the wing!" she said. He nodded quietly, watching her. "You guessed right—the first time!" Her face looking down at the check was thoughtful and sweet. "Are you going to pour my tea?" said Medfield. |
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