"And it's safe to assume that they have; and that they believed all they read as well—and then some. It's a common failing. I'd do the same about someone else, I reckon—if it happened to interest me."
"There is just the difference—it wouldn't interest you, nor me, nor any right-thinking person."
"Then the right-thinking persons are very scarce in this world!" she smiled.
"I shouldn't call them scarce," he replied—"very much in the minority would be better."
Dr. Wilton entered the room at that moment—the rubber-soled shoes having deadened his steps in the corridor. His was one of the old families, and so he was no stranger to Stephanie or to Pendleton. He was familiar with the peculiar situation—and, man like, sympathized with Stephanie. He responded to the look of inquiry in her eyes before she had time to ask.
"Your husband, Mrs. Lorraine, is resting quietly. The concussion is slight—and unless something develops internally, which we can't yet tell, he will likely recover. He has had four ribs broken, has sustained numerous cuts and bruises, and has lost much blood—but these are merely temporary in their effects."
"Has he recovered consciousness?" Stephanie asked.
"At brief intervals—but not for any length of time."
"Is there any indication that he is hurt internally?"
"It is too early to know certainly; though the character of the accident and the wounds make it very possible. There was a slight hemorrhage, but that has ceased."