"Yes, it's just on the cards," Sir Beverley answered.
"Of course, Murray decided at once to run the risk?" asked Jim.
"Of course," replied the specialist. But he looked thoughtful.
"And Rosemary?" I added. "Couldn't she have kissed your feet for the blessed message of hope you gave her?"
Sir Beverley smiled at the picture. "I saw no sign of such a desire on the part of the beautiful lady," he said.
"She's rather shy of expressing her emotions," I explained Rosemary to the great man. "But she has the deepest feelings!"
"So I should judge," he answered rather drily. "Perhaps, though, she has no great faith in the experiment, and would prefer for her husband's peace to let 'well enough alone,' as people vaguely say."
Again I felt the disagreeable shock I'd experienced when Rosemary had first spoken to me of Murray's death as certain. "It must be that," I said, quickly. "She adores him."
"She gave me proof of that, in case I'd doubted," Sir Beverley answered. "I told them that before beginning the hypodermic injections of serum I should like to change and purify Murray's blood by transfusion, and so give him an extra chance. Mrs. Murray instantly offered her blood, and didn't flinch when I told her a pint would be necessary. Her husband refused to let her make such a sacrifice for him, and was quite indignant that I didn't protest against it. But she begged, coaxed, insisted. It was really a moving scene, and—er—went far to remove my first impression."
"What was your first impression?" I catechized. "Oh, don't think I ask from curiosity! I'm Rosemary's friend. Jim and I are both as much interested in Ralston Murray's case as if he were our brother. In a way, we're responsible for the marriage—at least, we advised it. I know Rosemary well, I believe, though she has a hard nature to understand. And if you had an unfavourable impression of her, perhaps out of my knowledge I might explain it away."