“And the reviewers call it a good book,” Belknap complimented.
“Some of them do. But, I’m my own master—if I neglect my work it hurts no one but myself, and nothing but my own bank account. And so, I’ll give up doing a bit of writing I planned for this morning, and go up to the Lindsays’ with you. If I can do anything for them, in any way, I’ll be glad.”
The Lindsay apartment wore the air common to homes where death has entered, yet not to one of the actual household. The shades were partly drawn and a few shaded lamps were lighted. A silent maid admitted the callers and they were shown into the living room where a group of people sat.
The three Lindsays were there, also Doctor Davenport, who had been prescribing for Mrs Lindsay.
“You’re all right,” he was telling her, “just keep quiet and——”
“But, Doctor,” her shrill voice responded, “how can I keep quiet, when I’m so excited? My nerves are on edge—I’m frightened—I can’t sleep or eat or rest——”
“The medicine I prescribed will help all that; now, just obey my orders and do the best you can to keep cool and calm.”
“Let me help you,” and Manning Pollard took the seat next Millicent; “sometimes the mere presence of an unexcitable person helps frazzled nerves.”
“You’re surely that,” and Mrs Lindsay smiled a welcome. “I never saw any one less excitable than you are. Do help to calm me.”
She laid her hand in Pollard’s and sank back in her chair, already quieted by his silent sympathy.