"There are worse cases," replied the nurse briskly, "but she has suffered a great deal. What did you expect? She's a delicate, slim girl, and we're not savages now, more's the pity. The first baby is always the hardest, too."
"The first is the last here," said Osborn savagely.
The nurse smiled wisely. "Oh," she said placidly, "no doubt you'll be sending for me again in a couple of years, or less."
"What do you think I'm made of?" Osborn cried.
"The same as most men," said the nurse. "But will you tell me where to find the patent groats, for I've come to make gruel and I haven't time to talk."
"I'm afraid we never keep any groats or things," he exclaimed. "I'm sure we don't."
The nurse answered confidently: "Mrs. Kerr is sure to have bought everything."
Search in the larder revealed the groats, and the nurse began the cooking over the gas-stove. While she made the gruel, Osborn thought of Marie awaiting her trial, preparing for it ... buying groats.
He wished he had known what he knew now, so that he could have helped her more, have thought of the groats for her.
"Nurse," he asked, "do you think she can ever get quite well?"