Mrs. Red Pepper | Page 5

Did you put them there?"
"I did--but 'twas Mrs. Macauley sent 'em over. You'll find clean towels
in the bathroom. Oh, and--Mrs. Burns,"--Cynthia hesitated,--"the
Doctor forgot to say anything about it, but I've fixed up this little room
off his for Bobby. He used to have the little boy sleep right next him, in
a crib, but I knew--of course,"--her face crimsoned,--"you wouldn't
want--" She paused helplessly.
But Ellen helped her with quick assent. "I'm so glad the little room is so
near. Bob won't be lonely, and I shall love to have him there. I can
hardly wait to see him."
Cynthia went away, rejoicing that her arrangements were approved.

She was devotedly fond of little Bob, Burns's six-year-old protégé, by
him rescued, a year before, from an impending orphan asylum, and
now the happy ward of a guardianship as kind as an adoption. She had
been somewhat anxious over the child's future status with her
employer's wife, but was now quite satisfied that he was not to be kept
at arm's length.
"Some would have put him off with me," she said to herself, as she
returned to her kitchen, "though I didn't really think it of her that took
so much notice of him before. She's a real lady, Mrs. Burns is--and
prettier than ever since she married the Doctor, as why shouldn't she be,
with him to look pretty for?"
Left alone Ellen looked about her. Yes, this was the room in which he
had lived the sleeping portion of his bachelor's life, so long. It gave her
an odd sense of what a change it was for him, this having a woman
come into his life, share his privacy,--he had so little privacy in his
busy days and nights,--and occupy this room of his, this big, square,
old-fashioned room with its open windows, the one spot which had
been his unassailable place of retreat. She felt almost as if she ought to
go and find some other room at once, ought not to take even temporary
possession of this, or strew about it her feminine belongings.
The room was somewhat sparsely furnished, containing but the
necessary furniture; no draperies at the open windows, few articles on
the high old mahogany bureau, an inadequate number of nearly
threadbare rugs on the waxed floor, and but three pictures on the walls.
She studied these pictures, one after another. One was a little framed
photograph of Burns's father and mother, taken sitting together on their
vine-covered porch. One was a colour drawing of a scene in Edinburgh,
showing a view of Princes Street and the Castle,--one which must have
become familiar to him from a residence of some length during the
period of his studies abroad. The third picture--it surprised and touched
her not a little to find it here--was a fine copy of a famous painting,
showing the Christ bending above the couch of a sick man and
extending to him his healing touch. The face was one of the best
modern conceptions of the Divine personality. She realized that the

picture might have meant much to him.
She could hear his voice, as she set about her dressing. He was in his
private office, talking with a patient whose deafness caused him to raise
his own tones considerably; the closed door between could not keep out
all the sound. She felt her invasion of his life more keenly than ever as
she realized afresh how close to him her own life was to be lived.
Marrying a village doctor, whose home contained also his place of
business, was a very different matter from marrying a city physician
with a downtown office and a home into which only the telephone ever
brought the voice of a patient. It was to be a new and strange
experience for them both.
She sat before the dressing-table, having slipped into a little lilac and
white negligée. The half-curling masses of her black hair covered her
shoulders as she brushed them out--slowly, because she was thinking
so busily about it all, and had forgotten to make haste. Suddenly the
door leading into the office flew open--and closed as quickly. Steps
behind her, pausing, made her turn, to meet her husband's eyes.
He came close. An unmistakably "doctorish" odour accompanied
him--an odour not disagreeable but associated with modern means for
securing perfect cleanliness. He wore his white jacket, fresh from
Cynthia's painstaking hands. His eyes were very bright, his lips were
smiling.
His arms came about her from behind, his head against hers gently
forced it back to face the mirror. In it the two pairs of eyes met again,
hazel and black.
"To think that I should see that reflected from my old glass!" whispered
Red Pepper Burns.
CHAPTER II
THE WAY TO