"This is all wrong, Miss Jelliffe," he said. "I tried to prevent Yves from calling you. The child has diphtheria and you must leave at once."
The man's voice was frightfully hoarse, and he unconsciously put his hand up to his throat. She looked at him without answering. Then she went up to the little table and picked up a small vial she had noticed.
"Antitoxine, seven thousand units," she read. Then she took up a small glass syringe armed with a bright steel needle, and stared at it.
"You have given it to the child?" she asked.
"Yes, just a few minutes ago," he answered. "We only left Edward's Bay at sunrise. The man is getting well. I was told of this case and went up to Sammy's for the antitoxine."
"But it was the last you had!" she cried, "and Atkins has only been able to start this morning for more, and the wind is very bad for him. It may be days before he returns."
The man shrugged his shoulders, very slightly, and Helen went up to him, scrutinizing his face, silently. Then she put her fingers on the wrist that was supporting his hand on the back of the chair.
"I am not well," he said, "and I wish you would leave. I think I will have to let Mrs. Barnett into this mess. She's away at Goslett's house, where they expect a baby."
"How long have you known that you had diphtheria too?" asked Helen, and I could detect in her voice an intensity of reproof that was wonderful, for she was scolding the man, just as excited mothers sometimes scold a little one that has fallen down and hurt itself.
"I was beginning to feel it last night," he answered, "but please go away now, for it is dangerous."