“That’s the very point,” said Dr. Medlicott. “I want you not only to give her up, but to do so cheerfully.”
“I’m sure mother wants to stay with me. Armine does not need her half so much.”
“He does not require the same kind of attention; but he is in so critical a state that I do not think I ought to separate her from him.”
“Why, what is the matter with him?” asked Jock, startled.
“Congestion of the right lung,” said the doctor, seeing that he was strong enough to bear the information, and feeling the need of rousing him from his monopolising self-absorption.
“People get over that, don’t they?” said Jock, with an awestruck interrogation in his voice.
“They do; and I hope much from getting him into a warmer atmosphere, but the child is so much reduced that the risk is great, and I should not dare not to have his mother with him.” Then, as Jock was silent, “I have told you because you can make a great difference to their comfort by not showing how much it costs you to let her go.”
Jock drew the bed clothes over his face, and an odd stifled sound was heard from under them. He remained thus perdu, while directions were being given to John for the night, but as the doctor was leaving the room, emerged and said—
“Bring him in before he goes.”
In a short time, for it was most important not to lose the fine weather, the doctor carried Armine in swathed in rugs and blankets, a pale, sunken, worn face, and great hollow eyes looking out at the top.