“Isn’t she the dumb-bell!” thought the doctor.
He went on aloud, hoping she would repeat his words to Mrs. Knapp, “Don’t you say anything about it, Mrs. Farnham, especially to Mrs. Knapp. I don’t want to crow till we are out of the woods. I wouldn’t say anything to you if you were not a relative and a sensible woman. I don’t want them to have a breath of it, for fear of disappointment....” (How strangely she was looking at him, her face so white and anxious!) He brought it out roundly, “Yes, Mrs. Farnham, just between us, I really believe I can cure him.”
She gave a low cry that was like a wail. “Oh, Doctor!” she cried, appalled, staring at him.
What was the matter with the woman, now? He stared back at her, blankly, startled, entirely at a loss.
Another look came into her eyes, an imploring, imploring look. She clasped her hands beseechingly. “Oh, Doctor!” she begged him, in a quavering voice.
From her eyes, from her voice, from her beseeching attitude, from her trembling hands, he took in her meaning—took it in with a tingling shock of surprise at first. And then with a deep recognition of it as something he had known all along.
She saw the expression change in his face, saw the blank look go out of his eyes, saw the understanding look come in.
It was a long rich interchange of meanings that took place as they sat staring hard at each other, the gaunt, middle-aged man no longer merely a doctor, the dull middle-aged woman, transfigured to essential wisdom by the divination of her loving heart. Profound and human things passed from one to the other.
Mattie heard some one stirring in the house. “I must go! I must go!” she said groaningly. She limped down the path. Her feet were aching like the toothache with the haste of her expeditions that afternoon.