The man went, and was back before the doctor had made up his mind what to say to cover his ignorance.
A fat woman, who had lent the mattress to cover the boards, and who had been hovering over his wife for some time, here called Strange aside.
“You had better have your own doctor at once,” she said, “that there young man is soft. She wants skill, and, sir,” she added, with a soft twiddle of her thumb, “I have my suspicions.”
Strange looked enquiringly at her, and a cold shiver ran down to his toes.
For hours after she was brought home Gwen lay insensible. The doctor did nothing.
“Her physique alone will help her,” he said, when Strange seemed to demand action of some sort.
“She will regain her consciousness all right,” he said. “There is another complication, I believe,” he added, looking keenly at Strange, “but the treatment of that must come later.”
Again the horrid coldness paralyzed Humphrey’s very marrow.
“In view of this,” the doctor went on, “what about her mother being summoned?”
Strange thought for a moment. Her mother was, of course, quite out of the question, and he remembered that Mrs. Fellowes was ill.