“Tomorrow then—!” half-doubtfully, when he bade her good night.
“Tomorrow we shall see the great doctor,” he assented cheerfully. “Good night, mother.”
“Good night, my son.”
The great doctor looked her over keenly, with eyes that saw everything and saw nothing.
“A little trouble in walking!”
“Yes.”
“And nervous sometimes—a little!”
He might have been a neighbor, inquiring after her health. The little woman forgot herself and her fear of him. She told him, very simply, of the long nights—when the walls seemed closing in and there was no air except under the sky, and her feet refused to carry her. The line between her eyes grew deeper as she talked, but the hands in her lap were very quiet. She did not shrink while the doctor’s sensitive fingers traveled up and down her spine with almost roseleaf touch. Only once she gave a quick cry of pain.
“I see. I see. A little tender.”
“Yes.” It was almost a gasp, with a quick drawing in of the lip.