can see why. If he’s grown so touchy he’d never accept a cent if he thought I was hard up; see?
Ruth—Yes, Andy. [After a pause, during which Andrew puffs at his cigar abstractedly, his mind evidently busy with plans for the future, the bedroom moor is opened and Doctor Fawcett enters, carrying a bag. He closes the door quietly behind him and comes forward, a grave expression on his face. Andrew springs out of his chair.]
Andrew—Ah, Doctor! [He pushes a chair between his own and Ruth’s.] Won’t you have a chair?
Fawcett—[Glancing at his watch.] I must catch the nine o’clock back to the city. It’s imperative. I have only a moment. [Sitting down and clearing his throat—in a perfunctory, impersonal voice.] The case of your brother, Mr. Mayo, is [He stops and glances at Ruth and says meaningly to Andrew.] Perhaps it would be better if you and I———
Ruth—[With dogged resentment.] I know what you mean. Doctor; but I’m not going. I’m his wife, and I’ve got a right to hear what you’re going to say. [Dully.] Don’t be afraid I can’t stand it. I’m used to bearing trouble by this; and I can guess what you’ve found out. Don’t you s’pose I could see it staring out of his eyes at me these last days? [She hesitates for a moment—then continues in a monotonous voice.] Rob’s going to die.
Andrew—[Angrily.] Ruth!
Fawcett—[Raising his hand as if to command silence.] In view of what you have said, Mrs. Mayo,
