"Yes," he said; "and God grant it may be successful."
"I want to speak to you. Come into the drawing-room."
Her voice was abrupt, yet before she went she bent down and kissed her child passionately.
Dr. Fergusson looked at her curiously, as he followed her into another room.
He closed the door, and then she turned and faced him. There was a light in her eyes, a tremor about her firmly pressed lips, that showed that this was no light matter to her.
"Tell me again, Leslie, am I risking her life?"
"I can only say, I think not."
"But you are not sure of it being a success? We have the best surgeons, they are hopeful, and you are so. It must, it must be a cure!"
She sat down with her face towards the fire, and though her hands were lightly clasped on her knees, the doctor noted how they trembled, and how nervously she was working her fingers in and out of each other.
After a minute, she said, without looking round—