Every movement of her lips frightened him, but he managed to keep fear out of his voice.
"Good for you. I'll get it."
He took the basin of ice from the bed-table, and fed it to her bit by bit, slowly, as Dr. Redbank had done.
The touch of her lips on his fingers almost unnerved him. The lips were so weak, so loving, so piteously grateful as--piece by piece--they sucked down the melting pellets. Controlling himself for her sake, Ronnie realized a little of the self-control, of the unselfishness which had so long locked those weak lips from revealing their own danger. And again, at that realization, he felt his heart melting, even as the ice melted.
"Good man!" It was the doctor--whispering. "She can't have too much of that. I've sent your taxi for the nurse. It's her first hemorrhage, I suppose?"
"Yes--as far as I know."
"H'm. I thought so. Frightening things, hemorrhages. But there's no cause for immediate alarm. I'll wait till the nurse comes, and give her a second injection. You'd better go down and look after your wife."
On the landing, Smithers still waited. "Is she better, sir?" asked Smithers.
"Much better, Smithers. She's out of danger. But you can't go in yet."
Tiptoeing downstairs, Ronald Cavendish knew that the woman was watching him--blaming him. Half-way down, he hesitated. "I can't face Alie," he thought. "I can't face Alie." Then he turned, tiptoed upstairs again.