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She closed her eyelids on what he might see, and he kissed her between the eyes. "I have stayed away too long," he said. "Yes. I want to talk to you. Come and see Notya first." "Things have been happening, Daniel tells me." "Oh, yes, they have." "And if your letters had shown me your face, I shouldn't have stayed away another day." "Isn't it so nice, Zebedee?"
During the week that followed, a remembrance of her responsibilities came back to Helen and when she looked at Mildred Caniper, alternating between energy and lassitude, the shining house seemed wearily far off, or, at the best, Notya was in it, bringing her own shadows. Helen had been too happy, she told herself.
She constantly forgot that her family knew her, but, remembering that fact, her tilted eyebrows twitched a little. Her face broke into mischievous curves and dimples. "What d'you bet?" "No," Helen said, thinking of her stepmother. "Notya wouldn't like it." "Bah! Pish! Faugh! Pshaw and ugh! What do I care? I shall!" "Oh, a rotten thing to do," said John.
"I don't suppose you charge them half enough," she said, and made him laugh. "Come and see Notya before she goes to sleep." "Mayn't I speak to Mr. Halkett?" he asked. She did not look at the two men as they stood together.
"I don't like saying what I'm going to do." Rupert's dark eyes had a hard, bright light. "Are you supposed to love that unfortunate man? Look here, you're not going to be tied to Notya all her life. Zebedee and I won't have it." "What's going to happen to her, then?" "Bless the child! She's grown up. She can look after herself." "But I can't leave just you and her in this house together."
"To ask you to do something for us." "You know I'll do it." Still sulky, she took a few steps and leaned against the house wall; she had the look of a boy caught in a fault. "We want the doctor." "Who's ill?" "It's Notya." "What's the matter?" "I don't know." She forgot her grievance. "I don't like thinking of it. It makes me sick." "Is she very bad?" "No, but I think he ought to come."
Again she watched the twinkling poplar leaves and listened to their voices rustling between the human ones, and when she seemed to have been listening for hours, she said, "Zebedee, you ought to come. It's time Notya went to sleep."
She sang naturally now, in her low, husky voice, as she searched the banks for violets, but once she broke off to murmur, without humour, with serious belief, "He can't fail me. Who could? No one but Notya." Such was her faith in the word's acknowledgement of charm.
"Oh," she said, "you always think of Notya at such funny times." "Somebody has to," Miriam replied severely, and Helen laughed again, and beat her toes against the ground. Over her, Miriam stood, stern and disgusted, clasping linen to her breast. "You're hysterical. Nurse will come in. In fact, I'll go and fetch her. She'll grin at you!" "Is this hysterical? It's rather nice," Helen giggled.
Miriam and Helen shook each other with their silent laughter. "You can call her something else," Helen said. "Mrs. C. would be a jaunty way of addressing her." "Well, anyway, she's going to marry me, bless her heart. Get up! Notya wants to know why supper isn't ready." He did a clumsy caper on the grass. "Who's glad?" "I am," Helen said. "When?" Miriam asked. "Soon."
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