"So I have been informed," Richard said, his eyes looking far colder and more cutting than the steel instruments which Sophie was now rattling about in a big pan, "but—as it happens—I don't want you to do the work."
The insult was so barefaced and so ugly that Sophie suddenly turned scarlet and the young doctor bending over the bowl of water busied himself unnecessarily with a bottle of green soap. Richard himself began nervously tampering with his watch-fob, while I afterward recalled that my fingers were playing convulsively with the pearls which were still around my neck. It was an electrical moment and we all showed signs of weakening before the current—all except Alfred.
He stood in the same spot at the end of the table, directing straight at Richard his level, steady glance, and looking the personification of simple dignity—in an undershirt.
"That might put a different aspect upon the matter," he said slowly after a moment's deliberation. Not a muscle of his face changed, and no one less well acquainted with him than I am could have detected the hardness in his voice.
"Might put a different aspect?" Richard looked incredulous.
"Yes, it might—if the patient were a minor, and you her sole guardian."
"Ah! Then you mean to ignore my rights?"
"I do—if you wish to put it that way. Your sister's condition is critical; and there is no one else to operate."
"Then there is no appeal to be made to your pride?" I do not know what Richard meant, nor do I believe that he knew himself, for he surely would not have run the risk of trying to get another surgeon when it had been made so clear to him that the delay would be fatal. Alfred seemed to realize that there was no more occasion for argument than if he had been talking to an unreasonable child—or a dangerous lunatic.
"No; my pride lies dormant in a case like this," he answered simply. "I acknowledge only Duty."