Vigil in the Night by A. J. Cronin Page A

patient. He also dropped in frequently to drink a cup of tea with Mrs. Bowley when Anne was present. And one day he asked her to do some shopping for Rose.
      But this was different. Although there was nothing on which she could put her finger, her instinct warned her that she should accept no direct favors from the master of the house. Before returning to the sickroom she went downstairs and firmly countermanded the instructions which had been left regarding the car.
     
    CHAPTER 29
      All that morning she was quieter than usual. And Mrs. Bowley was quiet, too. At two o’clock, when Anne left her patient, Mrs. Bowley casually inquired:
      “And how do you propose to enjoy yourself this afternoon, Nurse?”
      “Oh, I don’t know,” Anne answered, coloring in spite of herself. “Go out a little, I suppose.”
      “I see,” said Mrs. Bowley.
      Anne was annoyed with herself for flushing so absurdly. She gazed steadily at Mrs. Bowley and said in a quiet tone: “I shall go for a walk. Then I’ll come in and settle down to read. I have a splendid novel. If you want me, I shall be in my room.”
      “I don’t think I shall want you,” replied Mrs. Bowley in a thin voice.
      With a troubled expression Anne went for a long, hard walk in the park. The exercise did her good. She had tea all alone in a little bun shop at the park gates. When she returned, her frame of mind was lighter, she was inclined to smile at her earlier misgivings. She took a bath, put on a soft gray frock, and curled up on the couch with her book. For over an hour she read steadily; then at seven o’clock a knock sounded on her door.
      “Come in,” called Anne without looking up, thinking that it was the maid with her dinner tray.
      But it was not the maid. The door opened, and Matt Bowley walked in. “Well, well!” he declared with his beaming smile. “I never saw such a pretty domestic picture in my life.”
      At the sound of his voice Anne sat up as if she had been shot.
      “Tut, tut,” he protested. “Don’t look so dumbfounded, my dear. I only called round to scold you for not using the car.”
      Anne put down her book and gazed at him rigidly. “I hardly expected to see you, Mr. Bowley.”
      “Why not?” he said playfully. “Can’t a poor man walk about his own house?” Closing the door, he helped himself to a chair. “You look a treat,” he exclaimed admiringly. “This is the first time I’ve seen you out of your uniform. It makes me wish you’d always stay out of it.”
      Anne smiled nervously. “I’m afraid I’m too fond of my job to do that.”
      He pulled out his cigar case, selected a cigar, and lit it. Then, head on one side, he considered her, amiably altering his approach.
      “A clever girl like you, interested in her work, ought to have a real chance. Get out of the hospital; it’s a dog’s life. Start a private home. There’d be pots of money in it if you had backing.”
      Anne asked stiffly, “And where would I find the proper backing?”
      He answered with heavy jocosity, “What about applying to Matt Bowley?”
      Anne took a quick grip upon herself. The situation worried her. But she told herself that she was no silly girl. The last thing she wished to do was to alienate Bowley. She said evenly: “Strange as it may seem, I don’t really care about making money out of my job. What I do care about is improving conditions for the nurses, getting a fair deal for them. That’s the ambition of my life.”
      He said archly, “Does that mean that my offer of financial assistance goes begging?”
      She had an inspiration, a sudden realization that this was her chance to divert his interest to a matter that had long been on her mind. She spoke with a calmness she did not feel. “Why don’t you make your offer to Dr. Prescott for his clinic?”
      He pulled the cigar from his lips to stare at her, his brow clouding. There was a pause. “What interest have you in