Vigil in the Night by A. J. Cronin

about his family. His wife, though an invalid, caused him to make no complaint, but his son had contracted an unfortunate marriage and had turned out a failure. There was only his niece, Rose, a little girl of thirteen, whom he adored. He was having her educated at the best school in England; in his own proud words, she was “getting her learning amongst the nobs.” He insisted on showing Anne several photographs of the child.
      Bowley would, clearly, have gone on talking about Rose, about himself, about life in general. But the clock on the mantelpiece now showed two o’clock. And Anne had her eye on it. Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, she said quietly:
      “It’s time I went back to my patient, Mr. Bowley. My off-duty hour is over.”
      “There’s no hurry, my dear,” he said. “The missus won’t go wrong for another five minutes.”
      But Anne shook her head, smiling. “I really must go, Mr. Bowley. I have my work to do. You wouldn’t think much of me if I neglected it.” And she rose from the table.
      The unexpectedness of her action seemed to take him aback. Yet he quickly concealed his feelings. He got up heavily, leaned across and patted her hand.
      “That’s right, my dear. Duty before pleasure. That’s always been my motto, and it’s paid me well.” He laughed heartily. “You run along, then. Give the missus my love. I’ll be seeing you soon enough. Make yourself at home. Collins here will look after you. And don’t forget, if there’s anything you want, you’ve only to say the word.”
     
    CHAPTER 28
      A fortnight passed swiftly. But to Anne’s bitter disappointment there was, despite all her efforts, no marked improvement in Mrs. Bowley. Judging by the reactions of her patient when she took over the case, Anne had hoped for a rapid, a dramatic cure. But during these last few days she had turned strangely taciturn and morose. Anne tried everything to dispel this mood. Yet the more she tried, the worse the mood became. She would look up suddenly to find the other woman’s eyes fixed on her with a queer and penetrating regard. It was both uncomfortable and inexplicable.
      Anne felt the position more keenly because she was so anxious to justify herself and to repay the kindness shown her. She had never been so well treated in all her life. It was embarrassing, the attention that was showered upon her. She would return to her room to find more fresh flowers there, a dish of peaches from the hothouse, or some grapes, or perhaps a box of chocolates. She protested repeatedly to Collins that they were giving her too much. The butler, a dark and saturnine man, would glance at her with an impassive face and merely repeat that these were his orders.
      She salved her conscience by taking many of the delicacies to her friends when she visited the Hepperton on her off duty. Never before had the nurses’ home feasted so richly or so royally.
      One morning toward the end of the second week, as she was returning from the service quarters with a jug of barley water which she had made for Mrs. Bowley, she met Matt himself. He was in a hurry, bustling to keep an appointment in connection with the forthcoming mayoral election. But he stopped with his friendly smile.
      “Your half day, isn’t it?” he said, amazing her with his knowledge. “Why don’t you have the car this afternoon? Nobody’s using it. It’ll do you good to have a run into the country.”
      She gazed at him confusedly, shook her head. “I couldn’t think of it, Mr. Bowley.”
      “Don’t be stupid,” he said with heavy playfulness. “No harm in a solitary motor run. I’ll have a word with Collins. Rather nice to get off the chain.” With a final persuasive nod he strode down the corridor and was gone.
      Her eyes followed him perplexedly. Naturally she had seen a good deal of Bowley in these two weeks. He had sent for her on several occasions to get from her an official report on the