"I wish you and all the rest of them would understand that I am not setting myself up as a butcher—" he began hotly.
"That is all I want to know," she cried, tremulously. "I have been dreading the—I have found myself wondering if you would give him those tablets. Look me straight in the eye, Braden. You will not do that, will you?"
"Never!" he exclaimed.
"You don't know what that means to me," she said in a low voice. Again there was a long silence. He was studying her face, and queer notions were entering his brain. "Another question, please, and that is all. Can his life be prolonged by an operation?"
"I am assured that he could not survive an operation."
"He may ask you to—to perform one," she said, watching him closely.
He hesitated. "You mean that he is willing to take the chance?"
"I mean that he realises it will make no difference, one way or the other. The other doctors have refused to operate."
"He will not ask me to operate," said Braden, but his soul shook within him as he spoke.
"We shall see," said she strangely, and then arose. She came quite close to him. "I do not want you to operate, Braden. Any one but you. You must not take the—the chance. Now you would better go up to him. Tell him you have talked with me. He will understand. He may even speak a good word for me. Good night. Thank you for—for letting me speak with you to-night."