“Were—were there any germs in the letter?” she asked, as Reginald and Betty stood on the other side of the chair, much encouraged, apparently, at this show of throwing off the lethargy that had seized her.
“Yes, but about as harmless as those would be on a piece of cheese,” Kennedy hastened. “But I—I feel so weak, so played out—and my head—”
Her voice trailed off, a too evident reminder that her improvement had been only momentary and prompted by the excitement of our arrival.
Betty bent down solicitously and made her more comfortable as only one woman can make another. Kennedy, meanwhile, had been talking to Miss Rogers, and I could see that he was secretly taking her measure.
“Has Dr. Wilson been here this morning?” I heard him ask.
“Not yet,” she replied. “But we expect her soon.”
“Professor Kennedy?” announced a servant.
“Yes?” answered Craig.
“There is someone on the telephone who wants to speak to you. He said he had called the laboratory first and that they told him to call you here.”
Kennedy hurried after the servant, while Betty and Reginald joined me, waiting, for we seemed to feel that something was about to happen.