I asked Amy Mathewson to stay with us too, as a member of
the family. I asked her cooperation as a woman, as well as a nurse, and
to have that it seemed to me necessary to have her here, even after he is
up and able to look after his own wants. How will you feel about that?"
He looked straight into her eyes. They were sitting upon a small side
porch, in the late June evening. He had come in from a visit to a nearby
patient, and, finding her upon the porch, had thrown himself upon the
cushion at her feet, his head against her knee. Now, he turned and looked
up at her, and she could see his expression clearly in the moonlight.
"I don't believe I quite understand yet," she said. "What is it that you
want Amy to do for him, 'as a woman'? Read to him, and walk with him, and
be a sort of comrade?"
"Precisely that--and a bit more."
"Can you prescribe that sort of thing, and make sure that it will work
out? He may not care for it."
"I want him to have a woman's companionship; it's what he needs, I firmly
believe. It must be a certain sort of woman--the kind who will be good
for his nerves, gently stimulating, not exacting. One of the brilliant
society women he knows wouldn't do at all. The ideal kind would be--your
own kind. But he can't have that." He spoke so decidedly that she smiled,
though he did not see it.
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