“I dare say,” she answered. “She seems brave. That’s always a good deal.”
“Oh, if you want braveness!” Grimshaw said. “But how can you consider his case if you won’t hear about him?”
“I’ve had one version,” she said. “I don’t want two. It would obscure my view. What we know is that he sits about speechless, and that he asks strangers in the street a question about a telephone. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“What an admirable professional manner you’ve got!” Grimshaw said; and he disengaged her hand from his arm to look better at her. “It’s quite right about poor Dudley.”
“Well,” she said, “don’t be silly for a moment. This is my work in life—you know you don’t look over-well yourself—but answer me one question. I’m content to take Ellida’s version about him, because she can’t influence my views. You might. And one wants to look only from personal observation. But ...” She stretched out her hand and felt his pulse for a light minute.
“You aren’t well,” she said. “No, I don’t want to look at your tongue. Here, take off your cap;” and suddenly she ran her fingers smoothly and firmly over his temples, so that they seemed to explore deep places, cool and restful. “That soothes you, doesn’t it?” she said. “That’s how I make my bread. But take care, dear thing, or it’ll be you that I shall be nursing next.”
“It lies with you to cure it,” he answered.
She uttered a painful “Oh!” and looked down the valley between her gloved fingers. When she took her hands down from her face, she said:
“Look here! That’s not fair. You promised not to.”
He answered: “But how can I help it? How can I help it?”