“It is about the same.”
“The doctors are hopeful?”
“They have not lost hope.”
“She seems to keep her strength wonderfully.”
“Yes, wonderfully.”
Mr. Lynde paused, looking downward, and awkwardly turning his soft clerical hat in his large kind-looking hands. “One might almost see in it a dispensation—we should see one, Miss Brent.”
“We?” She glanced up apologetically, not quite sure that her tired mind had followed his meaning.
“We, I mean, who believe … that not one sparrow falls to the ground.…’ He flushed, and went on in a more mundane tone: “I am glad you have the hope of Mr. Langhope’s arrival to keep you up. Modern science—thank heaven!—can do such wonders in sustaining and prolonging life that, even if there is little chance of recovery, the faint spark may be nursed until…”
He paused again, conscious that the dusky-browed young woman, slenderly erect in her dark blue linen and nurse’s cap, was examining him with an intentness which contrasted curiously with the absent-minded glance she had dropped on him in entering.
“In such cases, she said in a low tone, “there is practically no chance of recovery.”
“So I understand.”
[ 405 ]
