“No, it’s not necessary; you know that. I’ve an operation to-morrow in Manhattan; I must get back to town. Wish I could stay and shoot grouse with you, but I can’t.”
“Come up for the fall flight of woodcock; I’ll wire you when it’s on,” urged Lansing.
“Perhaps; good-bye.”
Lansing took his outstretched hand in both of his. “There is no use in my trying to tell you what you have done for me, doctor,” he said.
Thayer regarded him keenly. “Thought I did it for her,” he remarked.
Instantly Lansing’s face turned red-hot. Thayer clasped the young man’s hands and shook them till they ached.
“You’re all right, my boy—you’re all right!” he said, heartily; and was gone down the stairs, two at a jump—a rather lively proceeding for the famous and dignified Courtney Thayer.
Lansing turned and entered rooms 5 and 6. His patient was standing by the curtained window. “Do you want to know your fate?” he asked, lightly.
She turned and looked at him out of her lovely eyes; the quaint, listening expression in her face still remained, but she saw him, this time.
“Am I well?” she asked, calmly.