Now, on the evening of the day after her talk with Bessy, it was more than ever a solace to escape from the torment of her thoughts into the rarefied air of Mr. Tredegar’s presence. The day had been a bad one for the patient, and Justine’s distress had been increased by the receipt of a cable from Mr. Langhope, announcing that, owing to delay in reaching Brindisi, he had missed the fast steamer from Cherbourg, and would not arrive till four or five days later than he had expected. Mr. Tredegar, in response to her report, had announced his intention of coming down by a late train, and now he and Justine and Dr. Wyant, after dining together, were seated before the fire in the smoking-room.
“I take it, then,” Mr. Tredegar said, turning to Wyant, “that the chances of her living to see her father are very slight.”
The young doctor raised his head eagerly. “Not in my opinion, sir. Unless unforeseen complications arise, I can almost promise to keep her alive for another month—I’m not afraid to call it six weeks!”
“H’m—Garford doesn’t say so.”
“N 0; Dr. Garford argues from precedent.”
“And you?” Mr. Tredegar’s thin lips were visited by the ghost of a smile.
“Oh, I don’t argue—I just feel my way,” said Wyant imperturbably.
[ 415 ]
