After another week of rain the high arch of blue sky appeared again and the sun which poured down was quite hot. Though there had been no chance to see either the secret garden or Destiny, Master Toby had enjoyed himself very much. The week had not seemed long. He had spent hours of every day with Gwendolen in her room, talking about Rajahs or gardens or Destiny and the cottage on the moor. They had looked at the splendid books and pictures and sometimes Toby had read things to Gwendolen, and sometimes she had read a little to him. When she was amused and interested he thought she scarcely looked like an invalid at all, except that her face was so colorless and she was always on the sofa.
"You are a sly young one to listen and get out of your bed to go following things up like you did that night," Mr. Medlock said once. "But there's no saying it's not been a sort of blessing to the lot of us. She's not had a tantrum or a whining fit since you made friends. The nurse was just going to give up the case because she was so sick of her, but she says she doesn't mind staying now you've gone on duty with her," laughing a little.
In his talks with Gwendolen, Toby had tried to be very cautious about the secret garden. There were certain things he wanted to find out from her, but he felt that he must find them out without asking her direct questions. In the first place, as he began to like to be with her, he wanted to discover whether she was the kind of girl you could tell a secret to. She was not in the least like Destiny, but she was evidently so pleased with the idea of a garden no one knew anything about that he thought perhaps she could be trusted. But he had not known her long enough to be sure. The second thing he wanted to find out was this: If she could be trusted--if she really could--wouldn't it be possible to take her to the garden without having any one find it out? The grand doctor had said that she must have fresh air and Gwendolen had said that she would not mind fresh air in a secret garden. Perhaps if she had a great deal of fresh air and knew Destiny and the robin and saw things growing she might not think so much about dying. Toby had seen himself in the glass sometimes lately when he had realized that he looked quite a different creature from the child he had seen when he arrived from Antarctica. This child looked nicer. Even Mark had seen a change in him.
"Th' air from th' moor has done thee good already," he had said. "Tha'rt not nigh so pale and tha'rt not nigh so scrawny. Even tha' hair doesn't slamp down on tha' head so flat. It's got some life in it so as it sticks out a bit."
"It's like me," said Toby. "It's growing stronger and fatter. I'm sure there's more of it."
"It looks it, for sure," said Mark, ruffling it up a little round his face. "Tha'rt not half so ugly when it's that way an' there's a bit o' red in tha' cheeks."
If gardens and fresh air had been good for him perhaps they would be good for Gwendolen. But then, if she hated people to look at her, perhaps she would not like to see Destiny.
"Why does it make you angry when you are looked at?" he inquired one day.
"I always hated it," she answered, "even when I was very little. Then when they took me to the seaside and I used to lie in my carriage everybody used to stare and ladies would stop and talk to my nurse and then they would begin to whisper and I knew then they were saying I shouldn't live to grow up. Then sometimes the ladies would pat my cheeks and say 'Poor child!' Once when a lady did that I screamed out loud and bit her hand. She was so frightened she ran away."
"She thought you had gone mad like a dog," said Toby, not at all admiringly.
"I don't care what she thought," said Gwendolen, frowning.
"I wonder why you didn't scream and bite me when I came into your room?" said Toby. Then he began to smile slowly.
"I thought you were a ghost or a dream," she said. "You can't bite a ghost or a dream, and if you scream they don't care."
