"But--stay a moment. Tell me at least by which day I shall be ready to go back. You can put me in the proper way of treatment, and I will pursue it over there."
"Not by any day. You must not think of returning to France."
She looked puzzled: there was a wild expression in her eyes. "Do you mean that I shall not be able to return at all?"
"Yes, I do. I say that you must not venture upon the shores of France again. We can't think of trusting you to the care of that clever French doctor, you know."
And before Caroline had recovered her surprise sufficiently to rejoin, Mr. Welch had left the chamber and was down in the drawing-room with Miss Davenal. She bent her head as she waited for his opinion.
"Do you wish for the truth, ma'am?" he asked.
"Wish for what?" repeated Miss Bettina, putting her hand to her ear.
"The truth."
"Do I wish for the truth?" she retorted, affronted at the question. "Sir, I am the daughter of one surgeon and the sister of another; I don't know to whom the truth may be told if not to me. It is necessary that I should know it."
Mr. Welch gave her the truth: that there was no hope whatever. At least, what he said was equivalent to that.