"Come, Doctor," said he; "I must have a little talk with you."
The Doctor looked up dully, uncomprehending.
"Rouse yourself," continued Converse, "for there is a more desperate crisis in your affairs than the death of your father. Do you hear me? Do you understand?" Then, as Doctor Westbrook continued to stare at him wonderingly, he added, "You must pull yourself together—for your sister's sake."
The final appeal penetrated the stunned intelligence; on a sudden the Doctor straightened up, the light of understanding once more in his eyes.
"My sister?" he repeated; "Joyce? What do you mean? What of her?"
"Can you attend to what I say now?" returned Converse. He was now masterful, compelling the other's attention. "Then listen to me before I ask or you answer my questions." He paused for a moment, his keen eyes fixed squarely upon the physician's.
"Doctor Westbrook," he continued, presently, "you know whether, in the death of Alberto de Sanchez, there is any circumstance which may affect your sister nearly; you may not know that, in the death of your father, the circumstances involve her quite as clos—"
"Stop!"
The Doctor sprang from his chair; the emotions beneath which he had so lately been crushed were suddenly submerged and swept away in a wave of anger.
"You will leave my sister out of this wretched affair, sir," he commanded, white with indignation.