Nurse for the Doctor Read Online Free PDF

cheeks, and her eyes were limpidly brown and almost disturbingly placid, as if at the heart of her she was essentially remote and placid.
    “Sometimes,” she admitted. “I’m not one of those people who hate their own society, and in the country one is never alone. There is always a feeling of kinship with something—even if it’s only the endless activity in these hedgerows.” She reached out to pluck a scarlet rose-hip and admire it.
    He surveyed her with interest.
    “That’s a nice thought—a warm and simple thought. I think you must be a very nice person, Nurse Winter, if you have thoughts along those lines.” It was a warm afternoon, and he took her suddenly by the arm and led her away across the lawn in the direction of the lake that was partially hidden by a gentle heat haze. “Tell me,” he asked suddenly, with a soberness that came upon him at times, “have you ever felt violently about any single thing in your life, Nurse?”
    Josie could have answered truthfully that she was feeling violently at that moment with the warmth of his hand inside her arm, and the knowledge that for these few moments at least he was glad of her society. This realization made her feel a little bemused, and her heart labored almost painfully while her sandalled feet carried her forward at his side across the shaven surface of the lawn, but words eluded her.
    He went on: “Let me tell you something, may I?” As she made a little movement with her head he frowned and stared at a blaze of shrubbery they were approaching. “Rather more than a couple of months ago I thought I was in love—so much in love that I was certain I would never get over it. My life, my whole future, everything —revolved around one person. And then I was involved in an accident—largely because that love went sour on me—and from the moment I recovered consciousness I saw everything in a different light. It was just as if I needed a dose of concussion, amongst other things, to bring me to my senses. You see,” he ended, very dryly, “the lady wasn’t really worth a lot of mental suffering. She proved that. And nowadays I can sit beside her photograph and not even want to turn my head and look at it. What do you make of that?”
    Josie still felt as if she would have preferred to remain mute, but he was looking down at her inquiringly, and she shook her head.
    “I don’t know. Except that,” she added, after a pause, “you couldn’t have been really in love.”
    “Otherwise a bang on the head wouldn’t have cured me?”
    “I shouldn’t think so,” doubtfully.
    “You’ve never been in love yourself?”
    “No,” she answered quickly, almost too emphatically—“No,” she repeated.
    He looked down at her, and when she looked up she saw that his blue eyes had a queer, amused gleam in them.
    “But, then, in spite of your efficiency, you’re not much more than a child, are you, Nurse Winter? Or may I call you Josie? I happen to know that’s your name, because I saw it inscribed in one of your books.”
    “You can if you like,” she answered. “And if Mrs. Duveen won’t object.”
    “Why should she object?” with a sort of swift surprise.
    She met his eyes steadily.
    “There’s really no reason, of course. You call your housekeeper Bennie.”
    “But you’re not a housekeeper.”
    “No.” She caught at a butterfly as a means of doing away with the sudden tension between them—the odd way in which his eyes surveyed her. “Oh, what a beauty! she exclaimed, imprisoning it gently in her hand. “It’s a Red Admiral!”
    Michael Duveen smiled.
    “You sound as enthusiastic as a child,” he told her. The sun went in, and a chill wind reached them from across the lake. It was a sad little wind, a forlorn little wind after the blaze of warmth that had been wrapping them about. “Let’s go to Spain, Josie,” he said suddenly. “My mother wants to get away from here, so let’s go. Let’s leave this pathetic, dying summer and