“So Adamson tried to tell me. But it’s the fibrotic type—just a sort of shrivelling of one lung. Not a bit contagious, you know. Of course it weakens me, sure enough. And I do think it’s a damned great misfortune, my son. Here I have my work pretty near in hand”—he made a gesture toward the apparatus that littered the desks—“and another year’s work would probably give me the secret I’m after. I’m on the track, Mauney; I’m on the track.”
“Good.”
A tremendous pity for Lee possessed him, a pity that one man could never express to another. He thought of the quiet, gradual process of disease that had gone on in Max’s body, steadily sapping his strength. Why should fate have ordained this brilliant student to bear a disease that might have been visited more reasonably upon one who could never mean so much to the cause of science?
“Now, what I intend doing is to work on until I finish this bit of research work,” Max informed him. “If I discover the cause of pernicious anæmia I’ll be fairly happy, as you can imagine. If I don’t—well, I’ll have another whack at it after I rest up and get back in shape. I’m going to work right now. There’s a chair and some cigarettes, Mauney. Sit down and stay a while anyway.” He turned presently from his laboratory apparatus. “But you didn’t explain your murderous mood. What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing worth talking about,” Mauney replied, simply.
Whether it was worth talking about or not, the next few days seemed to prove that it was worth thinking about. He found himself in the same unsatisfactory relation to Lorna as ever. He called one evening and asked her if she would like to stroll with him on their back lawn.
“Oh yes,” she consented, “although it does sound childish, doesn’t it?”
It was far from childish to Mauney. He looked down upon her pale, exquisite face, as they sat on a bench in the faded twilight and knew that something had to be done about her. He was determined not to let another day pass without settling once and for all the relationship that was to exist between them. Here beside him on the bench was the one woman who had managed to cast a constant spell of attraction over him. For three years she had occupied a good deal of his thoughts. During this time he had become tolerably well acquainted with himself and longed now to become acquainted with the woman who had always held him so coolly at arm’s length. He was particularly curious to know what explanation existed for her conduct a few nights previously in the motor car. Why had she resisted his embrace?
“Lorna,” he said, at length, “I want to ask you a question. It may not mean much to you, but it means a lot to me.”
“Well, Mauney,” she said, with just a fleck of impatience in her voice. “I’ve been dreading this conversation. I know what you want to ask me and I’m not at all certain that I can explain. And yet I can’t very easily deny you the right to ask.”