"A pound a visit, and he is coming every day except Sunday."
Christina made a calculation and the immensity of the sum left her horror-stricken.
"A hundred and fifty pounds!" she cried. "Oh, Ambrose—how can you? I won't have the treatment. It is certain to fail—I won't, Ambrose!"
"I've paid a hundred on account. He didn't want to take it, but I said I would only let him come on those terms. I wasn't speaking the truth—I'd have let him come on any terms. So you see, Christina, I've paid, and you must be treated!"
"Hold my hand, Ambrose—and don't speak a word. I'm going for a long walk—I haven't dared walk before."
She resumed her gaze upon the bed-rail and he sat in silence whilst she dreamed.
Evie returned at ten o'clock that night and heard Christina singing as she mounted the stairs. "Enter, sister, has mother told you that I am practically a well woman?"
"Don't put too high hopes—"
"Shut up! I'm a well woman I tell you. In a year I shall walk into your medicine shop and sneer at you as I pass. Have you brought home any candy? 'Sweets' is hopelessly vulgar, and I like the American word better. And you look bright and sonsy. Did you see the god?"
"I wish you wouldn't use religious words, Christina, just when we are going to bed, too. I wonder you're not afraid. Yes, I saw my boy."