"Ah!" Sir Kersley said. "You think this is due to her?"
"In a great measure," said Max.
Sir Kersley's face was grave. "I am afraid the strain is telling upon her," he said.
"You think she looks ill?" Max shot the question with none of his customary composure.
"No, not actually ill," Sir Kersley said, without looking at him. "But she is too thin in my opinion, and she looks to me very highly strung."
"She always was," said Max.
"Yes; well, she mustn't have a nervous break-down if we can prevent it," said Sir Kersley gently.
"No," Max agreed curtly. "She has got to keep up for Noel's sake."
That seemed to be his main idea just then—his brother's welfare. Very resolutely he kept his mind fixed, with all the strength of which it was capable, upon that one object, and he was impatient of every distraction outside his profession.
Late that night he went round for a last look at Noel, and was told by a smiling nurse that he had "gone to sleep as chirpy as a cricket." He went in to see him, and found him slumbering like an infant. The pulse under Max's fingers was absolutely normal, and an odd smile that had in it an element of respect touched Max's grim lips. Certainly the boy had grit.