Claudia smiled at him with her most dazzling smile.
“You think you can make me quite better for the ball?”
He looked at her swiftly, and as swiftly looked away.
“That is a very short time. I am afraid I can hardly promise that.”
“How soon can you make me better?”
“These skin troubles are sometimes lengthy affairs. It will be necessary for you to have a course of treatment. I should like to see Mr—er—your husband, and talk the matter over with him.”
But at that Claudia swept forward with a commanding air.
“It is impossible! I forbid it! He does not know that I am here to-day. He must not know! If there is anything to be done, I must do it without his knowledge! I cannot tell him. I dare not tell him: What is it that is wrong with my face? It is only a little rash. Why do you look at me like that? For God’s sake say that it won’t take long, that it won’t get worse; that I shall be able to—to hide it from him; to keep my beauty! What is the matter? Why don’t you speak? You must tell me. If you know! Whatever it is I must bear it alone! I daren’t tell him—he must never know!”
The great doctor turned away his face. His lips moved, once and again, before at last the dread word echoed through the room:
“Lupus!”