"That won't do," he said kindly. "You—you were thinking of something. Something suggested by my saying she seemed not to want to recover." His keen eyes were searching her strong, young face. "Listen, young lady," he went on, after a pause, while the girl felt as though he were reading her through and through. "We surgeons are frequently up against psychological forces in our patients which not infrequently undo all the good we attempt to do. Believe me, a skillful operation often fails by reason of the antagonistic forces I refer to. There is no physical reason that I can discover why Mrs. Hendrie should not recover. Her history—the history of her trouble—suggests that the psychological side has been instrumental in bringing about her—deplorable condition. I know no absolute facts, but I have reason to believe that her mental attitude is such as to retard, even destroy the chances of her recovery. Can you tell me? But I know you can."
The girl suddenly clasped and unclasped her hands. Her anxiety became almost painful. The waiting man saw that he was on a hot scent, and, like the clever man he was, refrained from pressing her.
Presently she looked up into his face with desperate eyes.
"Oh, Professor," she cried, "I've so—so wanted to say something to you before. But I've—I've been scared to. You see, a—a woman's so different from a man—and—Monica is—is a woman."
"Quite so."
Phyllis saw the smile which accompanied the surgeon's words, and her helpless groping suddenly passed. She stifled her nervousness and spoke quickly.
"Yes, I know. I'm silly," she cried. "But—maybe no one's told you. You see, it's not easy. Yes, Mrs. Hendrie's trouble I think was largely brought on by grief."
"Ah."
"I can't—can't tell you what it was. It's—it's hers. I have no right to tell it—even to you. Anyway," she went on quickly, "that grief is still with her—I expect. But it could be removed in—in a moment," she added quickly. "It would be so simple—if the excitement were——"
The surgeon's eyes lit.