“Mr. Murray was troubled, too,” she persisted. “What’s it all about?”
“Oh, Murray has been unfortunate in a little business affair,” he explained.
“And you’re concerned in it, too,” she said.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But it’s all right, so don’t worry.”
More he refused to say, but later in the night, waking suddenly, she heard him in the library, and, stealing down stairs, found him pacing the floor in his dressing-gown and slippers. He meekly went back to bed when she gently chid him, but he was restless and slept little.
The next morning he held her in his arms several minutes before leaving for the office, and he knelt for some time beside the baby’s crib. It was such a leave-taking as might have been expected if he were going on a long journey. And she knew that he was withholding something from her.
At the office he shut himself up for nearly the whole morning.
“It must be a mistake,” he kept muttering. “That doctor is a fool. I’ll try another company.”
In the afternoon he put in an application and suggested that, as a matter of business convenience, he would like to be examined at once. Two days later he was politely informed that the company, on the advice of its physician, felt constrained to decline the risk. But the man who is condemned to death does not give up hope: he appeals to a higher court, holding to the last that an error of law or of fact will be discovered. Wentworth appealed his case, but the verdict of the specialist he consulted was the same: he might live many years, but he might die at any moment.
“I would advise you,” said the physician, “to give up active business and to get your financial affairs in the best possible shape. If you are to live, you must take unusual precautions to avoid excitement and worry.”