Madam Crewe let her breath escape in a long sigh of fatigue.
"Dear me! What tiresome things the young are! As Slawson says, they're hard as nails. You'd better reconsider, and ask me to marry you instead of Katherine. I'm seasoned, if not mellowed. Yes, you'd much better marry me."
Dr. Ballard smiled grimly. "Where my handsomer grandfather failed, how could I hope to win?" he retorted, throwing her a glance of mock gallantry. But even as he looked, he saw her face blench, her figure sag together like a wilted plant. In a second he had her in his arms, carrying her to the couch, forgetting the personal in the professional, working over her with a will.
A familiar figure appeared in the open doorway.
Martha paused a moment, then came forward swiftly.
"Another——?" she inquired, her hands busying themselves at once in obedience to the doctor's silent orders.
He shook his head. "No."
Presently Martha felt a quiver of muscles beneath her fingers. Madam Crewe's eyelids lifted. She made an effort to raise herself.
"What's all this—to-do?" she taxed her strength to demand.
Dr. Ballard laid a restraining hand upon her shoulder.