He bent forward in his chair, talking earnestly and rapidly. There was no time to be lost, since the disease was apt to take sudden leaps forward; at this stage every day was of value; the enemy must be attacked before he had made good his hold. There was a new treatment which, within his own experience, had had excellent results. It was not a certainty; it was very far from a certainty, but it was a chance, and it had this merit, that a month or six weeks would prove its efficacy in any special case. If this failed, something else must be tried, but most cures were very long, very costly. He would propose in the first instance giving two injections a week; later on three or even four. There might be a certain amount of reaction.
“What do you mean by reaction?” Sophie asked.
“Fever, headache. Possibly sickness, but not lasting for more than twenty-four hours.”
Sophie set her lips.
“I have no time to be ill!”
The doctor looked at her with deliberate sternness.
“You will have all your life to be ill, if you do not take care now! I will do what I can to help you; we will arrange the times most convenient to you. You might come to me at first direct from school on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Later on the system will accustom itself, and you will probably feel no bad effects. I should like to undertake your case myself. My charge to you will be a quarter of my ordinary fee.”
“Thank you very much,” stammered Sophie, “but—”
Claire jumped up, and hastily interposed.
“Thank you so very much! We are most grateful, but it’s—it’s been rather a shock, and we have not had time to think. Will you allow us to write and tell you our decision?”