After a while she found herself actually enjoying the prospect of certain failure on Braden's part in the case of Marraville. Reviled and excoriated beyond endurance, he would take refuge in the haven that she alone could open to him. He would come to her and she would go with him, freely and gladly, into new places where he could start all over again and—But even as she conjured up this sacrificial picture, this false plaisance, her cheeks grew hot with shame. The real good that was in Anne Tresslyn leaped into revolt. She hated herself for the thought; she could have cursed herself. What manner of love was this that could think of self alone? What of him? What of the man she loved?
She denied herself to callers. At half-past five she called up the hospital and inquired how Mr. Marraville was getting along. She had a horrid feeling that the voice at the other end would say that he was dead. She found a vast relief in the polite but customary "doing very nicely" reply that came languidly over the wires. Anne was not by way of knowing that the telephone operators in the hospitals would say very cheerfully that "Mr. Washington is doing very nicely," if one were to call up to inquire into the condition of the Father of his Country! An "extra" at six o'clock announced that the operation had taken place and that Mr. Marraville had survived it, although it was too soon to,—and so on and so forth.
Then she called Simmy Dodge up on the telephone. Simmy would know if anybody knew. And with her customary cleverness and foresightedness she called him up at the hospital.
After a long delay Simmy's cheery voice came singing—or rather it was barking—into her ear. This had been the greatest day in the life of Simeon Dodge. From early morn he had gone about in a state of optimistic unrest. He was more excited than he had ever been in his life before,—and yet he was beatifically serene. His brow was unclouded, his eyes sparkled and his voice rang with all the confidence of extreme felicity. There was no question in Simmy's mind as to the outcome. Braden would pull the old gentleman through, sure as anything. Absolutely sure, that's what Simmy was, and he told other people so.
"Fine as silk!" he shouted back in answer to Anne's low, suppressed inquiry. "Never anything like it, Anne, old girl. One of the young doctors told me—"
"Has he come out of the ether, Simmy?"
"What say?"
"Is he conscious? Has the ether—"
"I can't say as to that," said Simmy cheerfully. "He's been back in his room since five o'clock. That's—let's see what time is it now? Six-fourteen. Nearly an hour and a quarter. They all say—"
"Have you see Braden?"