“So am I. I’ll tell you as much as I know myself. If she pulls through the night they think she’ll do and she’s no weaker than she was this morning. That’s all I’ve got to go on. If there’s any change the nurse will come for me, otherwise she’s to see no one. The doctor’s coming again in an hour’s time.”
“Thanks,” said Fayre appreciatively. “I’m glad to know. It’s not such a bad lookout as I feared. Like so many people with frail bodies, Sybil’s always had more than her share of nervous vitality and I’m ready to bank on that. And you’ve given her an incentive to live, old man,” he finished gently.
Kean stared at him for a moment without speaking. Then:
“I’ve done my best,” he said with a curious grim note in his voice that made Fayre wonder whether, after all, he had not always realized how very little of her heart Sybil Kean had to give when she married him.
There was a pause; then Kean rose to his feet and thrust his hands into his pockets with the gesture that was so characteristic of him.
“I can’t stand this,” he said abruptly. “I must get my teeth into something or my imagination will get away with me. What have you and Grey been doing?”
“As a matter of fact, I came here to-day at Grey’s request. He wants to consult you and suggested I should make an appointment. Of course, that’s all off now.”
“For the present, anyhow. But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t put me au fait with things. I should be grateful for anything to hitch my brain onto at this moment.”
Fayre realized that he was actuated by sheer instinct for self-preservation and met him half-way by plunging at once into a recital of all that had happened in the last few days.
Kean listened attentively. Now and then he interrupted to ask a trenchant question; otherwise he heard him in silence. When he had finished Fayre handed him the little red cap the tramp had given him.