"Good-bye, lake, happy lake and moor-hens," she said. "Good-bye, trees and grass that are growing green again. Good-bye, all pretty, peaceful things."Michael had no hesitation in telephoning to Sylvia when they got back to town, asking her if she could come and have tea with his mother, for the gentle, affectionate mood of the morning still lasted, and her eagerness to see Sylvia was only equalled by her eagerness to be agreeable to her. He was greedy, whenever it could be done, to secure a pleasure for his mother, and this one seemed in her present mood a perfectly safe one. Added to that impulse, in itself sufficient, there was his own longing to see her again, that thirst that never left him, and soon after they had got back to Curzon Street Sylvia was with them, and, as before, in preparation for a long visit, she had taken off her hat. To-day she divested herself of it without any suggestion on Lady Ashbridge's part, and this immensely pleased her.
"Look, Michael," she said. "Miss Falbe means to stop a long time.
That is sweet of her, is it not? She is not in such a hurry to get away today. Sugar, Miss Falbe? Yes, I remember you take sugar and milk, but no cream. Well, I do think this is nice!"Sylvia had seen neither mother nor son for a couple of weeks, and her eyes coming fresh to them noticed much change in them both. In Lady Ashbridge this change, though marked, was indefinable enough:
she seemed to the girl to have somehow gone much further off than she had been before; she had faded, become indistinct. It was evident that she found, except when she was talking to Michael, a far greater difficulty in expressing herself, the channels of communication, as it were, were getting choked. . . . With Michael, the change was easily stated, he looked terribly tired, and it was evident that the strain of these weeks was telling heavily on him. And yet, as Sylvia noticed with a sudden sense of personal pride in him, not one jot of his patient tenderness for his mother was abated. Tired as he was, nervous, on edge, whenever he dealt with her, either talking to her, or watching for any little attention she might need, his face was alert with love. But she noticed that when the footman brought in tea, and in arranging the cups let a spoon slip jangling from its saucer, Michael jumped as if a bomb had gone off, and under his breath said to the man, "You clumsy fool!" Little as the incident was, she, knowing Michael's courtesy and politeness, found it significant, as bearing on the evidence of his tired face. Then, next moment his mother said something to him, and instantly his love transformed and irradiated it.
To-day, more than ever before, Lady Ashbridge seemed to exist only through him. As Sylvia knew, she had been for the last few weeks constantly disagreeable to him; but she wondered whether this exacting, meticulous affection was not harder to bear. Yet Michael, in spite of the nervous strain which now showed itself so clearly, seemed to find no difficulty at all in responding to it.
It might have worn his nerves to tatters, but the tenderness and love of him passed unhampered through the frayed communications, for it was he himself who was brought into play. It was of that Michael, now more and more triumphantly revealed, that Sylvia felt so proud, as if he had been a possession, an achievement wholly personal to her. He was her Michael--it was just that which was becoming evident, since nothing else would account for her claim of him, unconsciously whispered by herself to herself.
It was not long before Lady Ashbridge's nurse appeared, to take her upstairs to rest. At that her patient became suddenly and unaccountably agitated: all the happy content of the day was wiped off her mind. She clung to Michael.
"No, no, Michael," she said, "they mustn't take me away. I know they are going to take me away from you altogether. You mustn't leave me."Nurse Baker came towards her.
"Now, my lady, you mustn't behave like that," she said. "You know you are only going upstairs to rest as usual before dinner. You will see Lord Comber again then."She shrank from her, shielding herself behind Michael's shoulder.
"No, Michael, no!" she repeated. "I'm going to be taken away from you. And look, Miss--ah, my dear, I have forgotten your name--look, she has got no hat on. She was going to stop with me a long time. Michael, must I go?"Michael saw the nurse looking at her, watching her with that quiet eye of the trained attendant.
Then she spoke to Michael.
"Well, if Lord Comber will just step outside with me," she said, "we'll see if we can arrange for you to stop a little longer.""And you'll come back, Michael," said she.
Michael saw that the nurse wanted to say something to him, and with infinite gentleness disentangled the clinging of Lady Ashbridge's hand.
"Why, of course I will," he said. "And won't you give Miss Falbe another cup of tea?"Lady Ashbridge hesitated a moment.
"Yes, I'll do that," she said. "And by the time I've done that you will be back again, won't you?"Michael followed the nurse from the room, who closed the door without shutting it.
"There's something I don't like about her this evening," she said.
"All day I have been rather anxious. She must be watched very carefully. Now I want you to get her to come upstairs, and I'll try to make her go to bed."Michael felt his mouth go suddenly dry.
"What do you expect?" he said.
"I don't expect anything, but we must be prepared. A change comes very quickly."Michael nodded, and they went back together.
"Now, mother darling," he said, "up you go with Nurse Baker.
You've been out all day, and you must have a good rest before dinner. Shall I come up and see you soon?"A curious, sly look came into Lady Ashbridge's face.
"Yes, but where am I going to?" she said. "How do I know Nurse Baker will take me to my own room?""Because I promise you she will," said Michael.
That instantly reassured her. Mood after mood, as Michael saw, were passing like shadows over her mind.
