brother-in-law, Dr. Disbrow, should take an optimistic view of the case.”
“Natural? I don’t know”
“Don’t you think it’s natural that a man should be influenced by his wife?”
“Not where his professional honour is concerned.”
Amherst smiled. “That sounds very young—if you’ll excuse my saying so. Well, I won’t go on to insinuate that, Truscomb being high in favour with the Westmores, and the Westmores having a lien on the hospital, Disbrow’s position there is also bound up with his taking—more or less—the same view as Truscomb’s.”
Miss Brent had paused abruptly on the deserted pavement.
“No, don’t go on—if you want me to think well of you,” she flashed out.
Amherst met the thrust composedly, perceiving, as she turned to face him, that what she resented was not so much his insinuation against his superiors as his allusion to the youthfulness of her sentiments. She was, in fact, as he now noticed, still young enough to dislike being excused for her youth. In her severe uniform of blue linen, her dusky skin darkened by the nurse’s cap, and by the pale background of the hospital walls, she had seemed older, more competent and
experienced; but he now saw how fresh was the pale
[ 9 ]
