If Floyd’s father had lived, he would never have consented to the marriage. Julie was a hysterical girl, with a tendency to epilepsy; that was a secret in a family of many secrets; she grew out of it, but there were always over developed emotional symptoms. He was called in one night. She had been taken ill at the opera; the music affected her; she was quite stiff; he brought her to with difficulty. He had a shock when he heard of Floyd’s marriage. He thought there was something going on between Julie and Martin Steele. The young couple seemed to be very happy; she was a passionate mother; such mothers don’t make good wives.
He stood looking down thoughtfully at the sick woman, tossing from one side of the bed to the other. He had assured Floyd it was only a nervous attack. The excavating going on in the neighborhood accounted for the chills alternating with fever. She was delirious for hours, and after, exhausted, lifeless. Floyd wanted to consult another doctor.
“No, no, not necessary yet; it would frighten the patient, but I’ll send for Miss Mary.”
Floyd was bewildered; Julie was in perfect health and high spirits when he left and drove with Maud to her hotel. Scarcely an hour had intervened; he found her unconscious. What did it mean?
Julie was not talkative about herself, although she drew every thought out of him. Was there anything worrying her? Could any woman have it better? He was her constant companion, anticipated her every wish; what more could he do?
He sat brooding, the breakfast before him untouched, his paper unopened. Someone was fumbling at the knocker outside; he went to the door; he had a vague impression of a very small person; a clear voice spoke; it was like a bell ringing in his ears.
“Mr. Garrison’s house?”
“Yes, what can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I’m going to try to do something for you.” She flew up the stairs.
He was a bit startled, as if a bird had suddenly fluttered past him. He followed her, she had already thrown off her cape, under which was a white linen dress. She took an apron and cap from her bag, quickly put them on without a mirror; they sat at just the proper angles; she was used to dressing in the dark. Julie was lying across the bed; the covering was in knots, the pillows all cavities. The girl bent over her, murmuring low sounds like a dove cooing. Floyd tried to distinguish the words.