As though fearful, if she spoke, the tears would fall, the girl nodded her head stiffly.
Having learned what he wanted to know Ford applied to the wound a soothing ointment of promises and encouragement.
"He's as good as found," he protested. "You will see him in a day, two days after you land."
The girl's eyes opened happily. She clasped her hands together and raised them.
"You will try?" she begged. "You will find him for me"—she corrected herself eagerly—"for me and the baby?"
The loose sleeves of the kimono fell back to her shoulders showing the white arms; the eyes raised to Ford were glistening with tears.
"Of course I will find him," growled the reporter.
He freed himself from the appeal in the eyes of the young mother and left the cabin. The doctor followed. He was bubbling over with enthusiasm.
"That was fine!" he cried. "You said just the right thing. There will be no collapse now."
His satisfaction was swept away in a burst of disgust.