The doctor was sitting with Major Crawford when the lady joined them a few minutes after her conversation with Mr. Glaston, and never had Mrs. Crawford fancied that her husband's old friend could talk in such an affectionate way as he now did about the rescued man. She could almost bring herself to believe that she saw the tears of emotion in his eyes as he detailed the circumstances of the man's resuscitation. The doctor felt personally obliged to him for his handsome behaviour in bearing such testimony to the skill of his resuscitator.
When the lady spoke of the possibilities of a relapse, the doctor's eyes glistened at first, but under the influence of maturer thought, he sighed and shook his head. No, he knew that there are limits to the generosity of even a half-strangled man—a relapse was too much to hope for; but the doctor felt at that instant that if this “case” should see its way to a relapse, and subsequently to submit to be restored, it would place itself under a lasting obligation to its physician.
Surely, thought Mrs. Crawford, when the doctor talks of the stranger with such enthusiasm he will go into raptures about Daireen; so she quietly alluded to the girl's achievement. But the doctor could see no reason for becoming ecstatic about Miss Gerald. Five minutes with the smelling-bottle had restored her to consciousness.
“Quite a trifle—overstrung nerves, you know,” he said, as he lit another cheroot.
“But think of her bravery in keeping strong until she had told you all that she had seen!” said the lady. “I never heard of anything so brave! Just fancy her looking out of the port—thinking of her father perhaps”—the lady went on to the end of that pathetic sentence of hers, but it had no effect upon the doctor.
“True, very true!” he muttered, looking at his watch.
But the major was secretly convulsed for some moments after his wife had spoken her choice piece of pathos, and though he did not betray himself, she knew well all that was in his mind, and so turned away without a further word. So soon as she was out of hearing, the major exchanged confidential chuckles with his old comrade.
“He is not what you'd call a handsome man as he lies at present, Campion,” remarked Mr. Harwood, strolling up later in the day. “But you did well not to send him to the forecastle, I think; he has not been a sailor.”
“I know it, my boy,” said the doctor. “He is not a handsome man, you say, and I agree with you that he is not seen to advantage just now; but I made up my mind an hour after I saw him that he was not for the forecastle, or even the forecabin.”
“I dare say you are right,” said Harwood. “Yes; there is a something in his look that half drowning could not kill. That was the sort of thing you felt, eh?”