fellow can. There’s stuff in him—and infernal ambition.”
“Yes: but do you believe she can live—?”
Dr. Garford smiled indulgently on such unprofessional insistence; but she was past wondering what they must all think of her.
“My dear Miss Brent,” he said, “I have reached the age when one always leaves a door open to the unexpected.”
As he spoke, a slight sound at her back made her turn. Wyant was behind her—he must have entered as she put her question. And he certainly could not have had time to descend the stairs, walk the length of the house, ring up New York, and deliver Dr Garford’s message.… The same thought seemed to strike the surgeon. “Hello, Wyant?” he said.
“Line busy,” said Wyant curtly.
About this time, Justine gave up her night vigils. She could no longer face the struggle of the dawn hour, when life ebbs lowest; and since her duties extended beyond the sick-room she could fairly plead that she was more needed about the house by day. But Wyant protested: he wanted her most at the difficult hour.
“You know you’re taking a chance from her,” he said, almost sternly.
"Oh, no"
[ 426 ]
