All these voices of a much interested, much pitying, much (and on the
whole not unenjoyably) discussing world were heard only in dim echoes in
the Mildmays' big quiet house in Carlton-House Terrace, where Quisante
had been stricken by his blow. There May had found him on her hasty
return from Ashwood, and here he was still, thanks to the host's and
hostess's urgent entreaties. They declared that he was not fit to be
moved; the doctors hardly endorsed this view heartily but went so far as
to say that any disturbance was no doubt bad in its degree; Lady Mildmay
seized eagerly on the grudging support. "Let him stay here till he's fit
to go to the country," she urged. "I'm sure we can make him comfortable.
And--" she smiled apologetically, "I'm a good nurse, if I'm nothing else,
you know."
"But won't Sir Winterton----?"
"My dear, you don't know what a lot Winterton thinks of Mr. Quisante;
he's proud to be of the least service to him. And you do know, I think,
how it delights him to be any use at all to you."
In spite of that reason buried in her own heart which made every kindness
received from these kind hands bitter to her, May let him stay.
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