She had seated herself, but he remained standing.
What a handsome woman she had become, he was thinking, and how expensively dressed! There was something strange in the very familiarity of the countenance presented to him. It had altered much from what he remembered it, but curiously enough he remembered it the more vividly because of that very alteration.
"What is your trouble?" he asked huskily—"Why have you consulted—me?"
"It is my lungs. I don't know—let us call it a whim. I thought you would do me good if anyone could." She paused a second: "You used to be my husband once."
"Once! Well, I am willing to be your doctor."
"I suppose you would do your best for a dog if it were dying, wouldn't you? though you might not care if it recovered."
"I have a very faithful dog," he said significantly.
Bella winced.
"Dogs ask so little for their love. Oh, I didn't come here without a struggle. And I knew you would speak like this. But I have been abroad so long, and on the voyage home I got worse, and women—women of your sort who had taken no notice of me, suddenly grew kind. I said to myself, 'Bella, it looks bad for you when ladies forget how common you are,' and then the thought struck me, London meant you! As a patient I might come to your house and be let in. You are clever and you are great; if I had any self-respect I could not ask you; but I have not, you know; I never had any and'—and—I am—frightened! It keeps me awake at nights, the fear. I—I am not going to—die?"
"I have said I will do what I can for you."