The old surgeon, bending over the child, gave him a reassuring glance.
"The child's all right," he said. "See to the mother!" and nodded to Ruth, who was holding on to the mantel-piece.
She was swaying. Ern gathered her to him. The whole of her weight seemed on him. His eyes hung on her face, pale beneath its dark crown as once, and only once, he had seen it before—that time she lay on the bed in Royal's dressing-room on the dawn of her undoing.
"Ruth," he called quietly.
Slowly she returned to life, opening her eyes, and drawing her hand across them.
"Is that you, Ern?" she sighed. "O, that's right. I come all over funny like. Silly! I'm all right now."
Ernie lowered her into a chair.
She sat a moment, gathering herself. Then she looked up at him—and remembered. She had been caught. Fear came over her, and she began to tremble.
He bent and kissed her.
"I'm sorry I said that, Ruth," he whispered in her ear.