XI
The girl Mary remembered had changed, more than the ten years accounted for. There was nothing left of her youth. Her body was painfully thin, a mere wisp, and the tight-fitting black dress emphasized each sharp angle. There were great hollows in her face under the high cheek-bones and in her neck, round which she wore a white lace collar fastened by a large cameo brooch. Earrings to match the brooch, too heavy for her face, brought out her dead pallor. Her brown eyes were dimmed and slightly bloodshot from weeping. But her hair kept its vivid colour and luxuriance.
Seeing Mary alone, she had stopped—stood there, looking sullen, biting her lips. They gazed at one another. Mary was conscious of a remote astonishment that Nora should look so angry.... Voices sounded in the hall.
"There's the doctor," said Mary hurriedly, getting up. "Nora, how long has—has he been ill exactly, do you know?"
"Since he came here Thursday afternoon—he was sick then but he wouldn't let me send for a doctor—I wanted to—"
Her voice died away, again she had that sullen defensive look.
"I know. It isn't your fault—I'm sure you did everything you could," Mary said quickly in a neutral tone, and went out into the hall. She felt extremely uncomfortable in Nora's presence, but there was no time to think about that now.
Sayre was a young thickset man, with cool dark eyes, full of energy. After seeing the patient, he sat down in the study and talked with Mary. Finding her calm and alert, he explained the treatment he proposed to give, a new method—plenty of air and food, and cold baths. He cordially assented to calling Dr. Lowell, whom he had met professionally. He thought they would need another nurse, as the patient must be watched day and night. Mary eagerly asked if she could not take the night-duty, but he shook his head; he preferred a trained person, and it would take two of them to handle the baths. But she could be on hand—when her husband was conscious he would want her there. He was curt and grave and used no soothing phrases. Mary did not ask what he thought of the outcome; she could tell from his manner what he thought. He went away, saying that he would send for the night-nurse and would return himself about midnight. She might telegraph to Dr. Lowell if she wished.