Dr. Rathby came a little later. He had a cheery, confident air that was good for the mind, if not for the body.
"Well, how goes it?" he asked.
"Not—very well," was Mr. DeVere's hoarse reply.
"I'm afraid you'll have to do as I suggested and take a complete rest," went on the doctor. "That's the only thing for these cases. I'll take another look at you."
The examination of the throat was soon over.
"Hum!" mused the physician. "Well, Mr. DeVere, I can tell you one thing. If you keep on talking and rehearsing, you won't have any voice at all by the end of the week."
"Oh!" cried the girls, together.
"Now, don't be frightened," went on the doctor quickly, seeing their alarm. "This may not be at all serious. There is a good chance of Mr. DeVere getting his voice back; but I confess I see little hope of it at the present time. At any rate he must give himself absolute rest, and not use his voice—even to talk to you girls," and he smiled at them.
"I know that is going to be hard," the doctor went on; "but it must be done sir, it must be done."
"Impossible!" murmured Mr. DeVere. "It cannot be!"