Paddy was sitting back smoking, with his eyes half-closed; but he suddenly roused himself up and came across to the couch.
“How is he getting on?” he whispered.
Chester was silent, and after glancing at him, Marion spoke—
“He is better; sleeping well, and in less pain.”
“Don’t look better,” grunted the young man, and he glanced at his watch. “Dinner at eight. Like to go and lie down, Marion?”
“No,” was the quiet reply.
“All right,” said the young man, and he walked back to his seat, while Marion waited for a few moments, and then, gazing wistfully at Chester, said in a low whisper—
“You did not speak. He is better, is he not?”
The young doctor made no reply, but sat there breathing hard, as if fascinated.
“I cannot tell you how grateful I feel to you,” she continued. “Your coming here has saved poor dear Robert’s life. I know how strange it all must seem to you, but I—we dare not let you go. It is such a terrible emergency.”