Dr. Vandegrift met her appealing gaze calmly.
“Well, young ladies, I make no promises,” he said in a large way. “The deeper one delves into science, the more one learns from nature, the more modest a man becomes, and the less inclined to boast. Now this is all I am willing to say. Of the four cases of blindness which I have treated and cured with my recently invented Galvano Eye-Cup, every one was much more serious than this young lady’s appears to be. If I could treat her once a week for six months, I feel assured that at the end of that time she would see as well as I do. Nay, better, for she wouldn’t even require glasses. As I said, it is not my habit to make promises, though I confess I am strongly tempted to do so in this case.”
Betty drew a long breath. Of course, they should have realized that the cure couldn’t be instantaneous. But six months! Then she recollected that Rose had been blind only twice that period. And it was wicked to feel impatient of waiting only six months for the most marvelous happening possible.
“Are you going to be here, doctor?” she asked anxiously.
“I leave the hotel and the city to-morrow,” he returned. “But I have found so many cases here that need continued treatment that I shall return to Millville for one day each week.”
He handed Betty a dingy card.
“I shall be at this address every Wednesday, and if you wish to make a regular appointment, I can see you at any time between two and four in the afternoon—the mornings are all taken. But unless you are sure of coming regularly for the six months, you may as well not come again.”
“O, we will!” cried Betty. “Could you see us at this same time?”
He consulted a little book. “Yes, I can give you from quarter-past two until quarter-before three every Wednesday,” he declared. “My charges when I use the eye-cup continually, as I shall have to do with the young lady, are five dollars a visit.”
Betty grew white.