“I don’t know of any reason except the usual dislike the members of the family feel toward it. I’ve no doubt she will agree, when you advise it.”
Eunice Embury did agree, but it was only after the strenuous insistence of Dr. Marsden.
She flew into a rage at first, and the doctor, who was unacquainted with her, wondered at her fiery exhibition of temper.
And, but for the arrival of Mason Elliott on the scene, she might have resisted longer.
Elliott had telephoned, wishing to consult Embury on some matter, and Ferdinand’s incoherent and emotional words had brought out the facts, so of course Elliott had come right over to the house.
“What is it, Eunice?” he asked, as he entered, seeing her fiercely quarreling with the doctors. “Let me help you—advise you. Poor child, you ought to be in bed.”
His kindly, assertive voice calmed her, and turning her sad eyes to him, she moaned, plaintively, “Don’t let them do it—they mustn’t do it.”
“Do what?” Elliott turned to the doctors, and soon was listening to the whole strange story.
“Certainly an autopsy!” he declared; “why, it’s the only thing to do. Hush, Eunice, make no further objection. It’s absolutely necessary. Give your consent at once.”
Almost as if hypnotized, Eunice Embury gave her consent, and the two doctors went away together.