The doctor had finished. She turned away to a basin and stood washing her hands. She reached for an immaculate towel, and with it in her hands she turned about and stood looking at her patient. Martha was sitting up on that hospital-like table. The doctor went on drying her hands. Finger after finger she dried, one at a time, studying Martha mercilessly. By the time she had finished that fourth finger, Emily could stand the suspense no longer. She managed to ask with only ordinary concern:
"What do you find?"
The doctor kept her eyes steadily on Martha as she answered:
"As a matter of fact, though you get your mother to do all the talking, the truth is that you are scared out of your wits at the mere thought of a baby. Don't look at your mother; answer me yourself!"
"Yes," Martha murmured, faintly. "I didn't—I don't want——"
The doctor spoke grimly: "Well, don't worry. You're not going to have one."
She was still drying those hands.
Emily and Martha babbled together almost incoherently.
"What do you mean?"
"You're not pregnant at all. There's not a sign of pregnancy."