Mr. Geist made an attentive and genial nurse, discoursing so pleasantly and fluently that, greatly to my satisfaction (for I was very weak), my part in the conversation was limited to an occasional monosyllable; but he said nothing on the subject as to which I was most anxious for information—­Mr. Fortescue—­and, as he clearly desired to avoid it, I refrained from asking questions that might have put him in a difficulty and exposed me to a rebuff.

I found out afterward that neither he nor Ramon ever discussed their master, and though Mrs. Tomlinson, my third nurse (a buxom, healthy, middle-aged widow, whose position seemed to be something between that of housekeeper and upper servant), was less reticent, it was probably because she had so little to tell.

I learned, among other things, that the habits of the household were almost as regular as those of a regiment, and that the servants, albeit kindly treated and well paid, were strictly ruled, even comparatively slight breaches of discipline being punished with instant dismissal.  At half-past ten everybody was supposed to be in bed, and up at six; for at seven Mr. Fortescue took his first breakfast of fruit and dry toast.  According to Mrs. Tomlinson (and this I confess rather surprised me) he was an essentially busy man.  His only idle time was that which he gave to sleep.  During his waking hours he was always either working in his study, his laboratory, or his conservatories, riding and driving being his sole recreations.

“He is the most active man I ever knew, young or old,” said Mrs. Tomlinson, “and a good master—­I will say that for him.  But I cannot make him out at all.  He seems to have neither kith nor kin, and yet—­This is quite between ourselves, Mr. Bacon—­”

“Of course, Mrs. Tomlinson, quite.”

“Well, there is a picture in his room as he keeps veiled and locked up in a sort of shrine; but one day he forgot to turn the key, and I—­I looked.”

“Naturally.  And what did you see?”

“The picture of a woman, dark, but, oh, so beautiful—­as beautiful as an angel....  I thought it was, may be, a sweetheart or something, but she is too young for the likes of him.”

“Portraits are always the same; that picture may have been painted ages ago.  Always veiled is it?  That seems very mysterious, does it not?”

“It does; and I am just dying to know what the mystery is.  If you should happen to find out, and it’s no secret, would you mind telling me?”

At this point Herr Geist appeared, whereupon Mrs. Tomlinson, with true feminine tact, changed the subject without waiting for a reply.

During the time I was laid up Mr. Fortescue came into my room almost every day, but never stayed more than a few minutes.  When I expressed my sense of his kindness and talked about going home, he would smile gravely, and say: 

“Patience!  You must be my guest until you have the full use of your limbs and are able to go about without help.”