Under
orders she continued her assiduous attention. Everyone said she was a
perfect nurse.
Occasionally she went to see her father. He greeted her with warmth and
affection, and told her all about how, on account of racing being
stopped, he was gradually becoming a pauper. When she began telling him
of the events in which she was absorbed he answered by giving her news
of the prospects for the Cambridgeshire. In the little den in the house
in West Kensington, where he lived, she would come in and say in a
soft voice:
'Papa dear, you know I shan't be able to stop much longer.'
'Much longer where?'
'Why, with my patient, Mr Ross--Mr Aylmer Ross.'
'Shan't you? Mind you, my dear, there are two good three-year-olds that
are not to be sneezed at.' He shook his head solemnly.
It had never occurred to Dulcie for a moment to sneeze at
three-year-olds. She hardly knew what they were.
'But what do you advise for me, papa?'
'My dear child, I can't advise. You can't select with any approach to
confidence between Buttercup and Beautiful Doll. Mind you, I'm very much
inclined to think that More Haste may win yet. Look how he ran in
August, when nobody knew anything about him!'
'Yes, I know, papa, but--'
She gave it up.
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