“There, I told you it was silly to be scared about me, Frank. It always did take me a long time to recover from an illness—even a cold. I’m afraid I’m lazy—you didn’t know you had married a lazy wife did you?” Marian gave his hand a little loving pat and Frank silently stooped to kiss her, but he was not reassured.
He had watched the varying expressions of the great doctor’s face and he was decidedly uneasy. With reason, he found when he accompanied his father and Dr. Brownleigh back to the old home.
Once inside the little sitting room Dr. Brownleigh turned to him gravely.
“Mr. Morton, your face tells me that you have read mine. Please don’t make the mistake of imagining your wife is worse than she is. Her right lung is considerably affected, I am sorry to say. The left one seems to be perfectly sound there is no reason with proper care and a change of climate why she should not live for years.”
“Change of climate?—that means what—a few months or a permanent move?”
“A year at the least—I should advise a permanent change to Kansas or Colorado or Arizona. She needs a dryer and more even climate, plenty of fresh air and an outdoor life.”
Frank groaned. His father laid his hand on his shoulder sympathetically.
“It is hard, my boy, when you have such a good position here, too. Brace up—we’ll find a way out—and Marian may be completely cured—remember that.”
Many were the consultations in the Morton and Gates homes during the next few weeks. It was agreed not to tell Marian her weakness till she was able to be out again. In the meantime it was arranged that Dr. Morton should take a trip west to look up a suitable location.
Without telling her the real reason, Frank had talked Marian into the idea of ranching and the older people found her eager zest and enthusiasm for the new life, pathetic.