"He says there is nothing to be done," I retorted. "I almost wish I had brought Fieldman to see the child."
"In the name of Heaven, why? Is not Parsons the first man in his profession?"
"Undoubtedly one of the first, but he is cautious. In my opinion he is too cautious."
"What do you mean?"
"There is an operation which might be performed on the child, which, if successful, would restore him to perfect health."
"Then, in Heaven's name, why isn't it done?"
"Parsons thinks the risk too great."
"What risk?"
"The risk to life."
"Is the operation so critical?"
"It is; if it failed—and Parsons considers that in this case it would be sure to fail—the boy would die."
"Ah, and Charlie Stanhope would be heir! That settles the point. We must not run the risk."
"If the boy were mine, I should perform the operation," I said.
"What do you mean?"
"It is my conviction that he would stand it. But I must not urge you. The risk is too momentous."
"It is, Guy, it is. The operation must not be thought of. There is no gainsaying an opinion like Parsons's."
"I believe Fieldman would have attempted it. If the case were mine, I should counsel Fieldman being telegraphed for even now."
"No, no, better not," interrupted Hal. "Life at any cost—life at any cost must be preserved. The risk is too tremendous. Let us abide by Parsons's verdict."
At this moment Mrs. Stanhope entered the room. She overheard her husband's last words, and came up to him at once. The deathly pallor of her face was almost startling. Her patient eyes were hard in their glassy brightness.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, leaning her hand as she spoke on Stanhope's shoulder.
"He slipped his arm round her waist."
He was seated by the table. He turned back and slipped his arm round her waist.
"We are talking about the boy, of course," he said. "Halifax has been repeating Parsons's opinion to me over again."
"It is impossible to believe that opinion," said the mother. "Our noble boy an idiot! Great surgeons are often wrong, and this one will be proved to have made a frightful error, I am firmly convinced."
"No, no, Kitty," said Stanhope. "Men like Parsons never make mistakes."
"That is not true," she said, turning to me. "You have known of such cases, have you not, Dr. Halifax?"
"I have," I answered, emphatically.
She gave her husband a swift glance of the saddest triumph it was possible to witness.
"Has Mr. Parsons gone?" she asked, after a moment's pause.
"Yes," replied Stanhope; "he could do no possible good by remaining."
"I am sorry he came down," she said, with sudden passion. "We did not want our boy's
