She did not tell him that day, for he did not come home; nor the next, for he had a headache; nor the third, for he was in excellent spirits, and she could not bear to. In fact, she waited a week before she gathered her courage to speak. One Saturday evening he did not go to the club, but was at home, and he had been very kind to her that day, and loving, and in fact he noticed her appearance, and asked her what was the matter, and why she breathed so short.
Then she drew his hand over her eyes, so that she might not see how he would look, and the beautiful curve of her lip broke a little, for she felt so sorry for her husband; but her firm voice carried itself with courage (Jean never had the invalid's whine), and she told him what the doctor said.
Marshall Avery listened in a silence which might have meant the utmost of distress or the innermost of skepticism. He walked to the window and stood for a while looking out into the lighted street. Perhaps he had a blundering, masculine notion of doing the best thing for her. She would be the first to believe that.
"I 'll see Thorne about this," he said presently. "I can't have him putting you in a panic. You 've grown very nervous lately.
"Cheer up, Jean," he added, coming over to her sofa. "Don't grow hysteric, whatever happens."
He sat down and put his arm around her. Five minutes ago she would have clung to him and poured her soul out on his breast—would have put up her hand to his cheek and blessed him and worshiped him, as a wife does—and would have spared him the worst of everything, and given him the best; refrained from complaint, and lavished hope; made little of her own suffering, and much of his distress for her sake, as this wife could.... Now, she lay quite still and irresponsive. She did not speak, but tried to smile gently upon him. Then he saw her color change, and he flung the window up—for he was startled—and held her to the air.
"Poor girl!" he said. "Poor Jean! My poor Jean!"
"Oh, don't!" cried Jean. For the tenderness, coming after that other, well-nigh slew her. She began to sob,—the cruel sobs that wreck a weakened heart,—and the man fought for her life for an hour.
When Dr. Thorne came the danger was quite over; as it usually is in such cases before the physician can arrive; but he said roughly,—
"What have you been doing to her?"