"Perhaps I shouldn't have said it," apologised the old physician, really distressed. "I did it quite thoughtlessly, my dear Mrs. Thorpe. I forgot that you do not read the medical journals."
"Oh, I know what Braden has always preached," she said hurriedly. "But it never—it never occurred to me that—" She did not complete the sentence. A ghastly pallor had settled over her face.
"That his theory might find application to the case upstairs?" supplied the doctor. "Of course it would be unthinkable. Very stupid of me to have spoken of it."
Anne leaned forward in her chair. "Then you regard Mr. Thorpe's case as one that might be included in Braden's—" Again she failed to complete a sentence.
"Yes, Mrs. Thorpe," said Dr. Bates gravely. "If young Braden's pet theory were in practice now, your husband would be entitled to the mercy he prescribes."
"He has no chance?"
"Absolutely no chance."
"All there is left for him is to just go on suffering until—until life wears out?"
"We are doing everything in our power to alleviate the suffering,—everything that is known to science," he vouchsafed. "We can do no more."
"How long will he live, Dr. Bates?" she asked, and instantly shrank from the fear that he would misinterpret her interest.