George looked at his mother again. He was able to do it, because she was not looking at him. He clenched his hands and got himself together. “And—where did he send you?”
His mother fumbled in her hand bag and drew out a visiting card. “Here,” she said.
And George looked at the card. It was all he could do to keep himself from tottering. It was the card of the doctor whom he had first consulted about his trouble! The specialist in venereal diseases!
CHAPTER IV
It was all George could do to control his voice. “You—you went to see him?” he stammered.
“Yes,” said his mother. “You know him?”
“No, no,” he answered. “Or—that is—I have met him, I think. I don’t know.” And then to himself, “My God!”
There was a silence. “He is coming to talk to you,” said the mother, at last.
George was hardly able to speak. “Then he is very much disturbed?”