“Well, but how did he know?” asked Thurso. “Twelve hours ago they thought she couldn’t live through the day. And what the deuce has our Mr. Cochrane got to do with it? Who is he? What is he? How did he know?”
Maud had no reply to this at once; “our Mr. Cochrane” had repudiated preaching on his own account—clearly, then, it was not her business to state his views.
“Well, he hasn’t done any harm, anyhow,” she said.
“Of course not; but it’s an odd coincidence. Mr. Cochrane tells Duncan that his wife is getting better, and Duncan has only got to walk home, and finds it is so. Oh, and another thing: Dr. Symes called there this afternoon, and Duncan kindly but quite firmly refused to let him in at all unless he promised not to give her any more medicine. So he promised, because when he saw her last she was absolutely past all hope; also, he doesn’t much believe in medicines, though you needn’t mention it. He saw, of course, the enormous improvement, and wanted to take her temperature, but Duncan again firmly, and with beaming smiles, would not allow it. I suppose he considered a thermometer a sort of modified medicine.”
“Well?”
“Dr. Symes insisted, and eventually Duncan, with great respect, threw the thermometer out of the window. That is why I supposed he was drunk.”
“No, I’m sure he wasn’t drunk,” said Maud. “Go on, dear.”
They had finished dinner, and Thurso rose to get a cigarette.
“That’s the end,” he said. “Dr. Symes tells me he has seen that sort of recovery before, but what is odd is that our Mr. Cochrane should have foreseen it. Is he a crank, do you think, or a spiritualist, or some sort of innocent lunatic?”
Again Maud mentally reviewed her decision not to do Mr. Cochrane’s preaching (which he would not do for himself) for him, and again endorsed her policy.