“Tell me?” he repeated in surprise.
“Of the cause of this attack?”
“No.”
“Then I must. Briefly, my husband has been in New York for the past five weeks; he suffered there with acute pneumonia for a week, told us nothing, but hurried home as soon as possible,—too soon, I suppose. Day before yesterday my nephew received a letter stating these facts, and, later, a telegram asking him to come to Reno, where he was delayed, feeling too ill to go farther alone. The first I heard of this was last night, when Ruth received this telegram from Louis.” She handed it to him.
As Kemp read, an unmistakable gravity settled on his face. As he was folding the paper thoughtfully, Mrs. Levice addressed him again in her unfamiliar, calm voice,—
“Will you please explain what he means by your understanding?”
“Yes; I suppose it is expedient for me to tell you at once,” he said slowly, reseating himself and pausing as if trying to recall something.
“Last year,” he began, “probably as early as February, your husband came to me complaining of a cough that annoyed him nights and mornings; he further told me that when he felt it coming, he went to another apartment so as not to disturb you. I examined him, and found he was suffering with the first stages of asthma, and that one of his lungs was slightly diseased already. I treated him and gave him directions for living carefully. You knew nothing of this?”
“Nothing,” she answered hoarsely.
“Well,” he went on gently, “there was no cause for worry; if checked in time, a man may live to second childhood with asthma, and the loss of a small portion of a lung is not necessarily fatal. He knew this, and was mending slowly; I examined him several times and found no increase in the loss of tissue, while he told me the cough was not so troublesome.”