"I will let you know the result as soon as I can, but it will not be a sudden cure. Very, very gradual. Goodbye."
He turned back hastily, and Jean went out into the street feeling very depressed, and more lonely than ever.
All the next day, she painted away with feverish eagerness. It was wonderful, the tight hold little Sunnie had taken of her heart; she tried to banish her from her thoughts, but her sweet little pathetic voice kept ringing in her ears—
"They're going to make me either fly on earth, or else fly to heaven!"
When the following day came, she absented herself from the studio, and though she made a pretence of doing a little painting at home, she spent most of her time in pacing her two rooms. Her heart felt bitter against Mrs. Gordon.
"Why should she urge this so much? Does she really care at all for her child, or is her invalidism a bore to her? I suppose Dr. Fergusson can be trusted, but he may have been overpersuaded by her."
If Jean had been a witness of a scene the evening previously, she would have judged Mrs. Gordon less harshly.
She had been sitting by her child till she fell asleep. Sunnie had been restless and wakeful, and it was ten o'clock before she dropped off into the sound slumber her mother waited for. Then Mrs. Gordon rose to leave the room. Turning round, she found that Dr. Fergusson was standing behind her chair, looking meditatively at the little sleeper.
She looked at him.
"This time to-morrow it will all be over."