She sank back and lay tossing from side to side, moaning; and meantime the doctor went quietly on, arranging his basins and bottles, and giving his orders. Then finally he came and made his examination.
“She is doing very well,” he said, “and now, Miss Mary, I have an engagement for the theatre for this evening. I think there will be no need of me for some hours.”
Thyrsis started, aghast. “Doctor!” he cried.
“What is it?” asked the other.
“Something might happen!” he exclaimed.
“I shall be only two or three blocks away,” was the reply—“They will send for me if there is need.”
“But this pain!” cried Thyrsis, excitedly. “What is she to do?”
The man stood by the bedside, washing his hands. “You cannot have a child-birth without pain,” he said. “These are merely false pains, as we call them; the real birth-pains may not come for hours—perhaps not until morning. There are membranes which have to be broken, and muscles which have to be stretched—and there is no way of doing it but this way.”
He stood with his hand on the doorknob. “Do not be worried,” he said. “Whatever happens, the attendant will know what to do.”
“The theatre!” It seemed so strange! To be sure, it was unreasonable—if a man had several cases each week to attend to, he could not be expected to suffer with each one. But at least he need not have mentioned the theatre! It gave one such a strange feeling of isolation!