"Honour bright, Helen precious."
"Ted, isn't it glorious! I feel better already. Will it be in June?"
I kneeled in front of her chair and hid my face in her lap.
"Why, Ted! I believe you are crying!"
I clung to her hand.
"Dear old boy, Ted. I love you," she leaned over me and whispered.
The local practitioner confirmed the opinion of Dr. Krehstadt, the specialist. He and I, with Miss Brock, held a council-of-war while Helen was taking her afternoon nap next day.
"Why in the name of heaven did the doctors in London and New York talk so optimistically to us?" I asked him, for he was a pleasant-spoken young man with friendly blue eyes. He shrugged.
"Perhaps," he hazarded, "they thought it important to keep your courage up. Or it is possible"—and he hesitated—"I hate to say this of my colleagues—yet it may be they wished to pass you along. I don't say it was the reason in your case, Mr. Jevons, but I have known it to have been done with other tubercular cases sent out here."