But it was the two men in the other boat who carried Miss Lane up to the Morraway Hotel. One of them was Elbridge Allan, pale and disconcerted; the other a dark, quick-eyed, square-lipped man, who dismissed the geologist rather abruptly, after Olivia had been taken to Miss Rodman's room.
"But she's my friend, Dr. Sands," he pleaded.
"And mine. And my patient besides, Mr. Allan," pronounced Dr. Sands.
"Then, Doctor," said Allan, nervously, "you must let me ask you a question. Miss Lane told me three hours ago that she was going blind. I was—I don't mind saying—very much upset by it. Is it true?"
"Miss Lane's eyes are in a very serious condition," replied Dr. Sands, in his slightly bored, professional voice, while he measured the other man from head to foot.
"There is no chance?"
"I would not say that," was the brusque answer. "There is always a chance. You will of course pardon me for not discussing my patient?"
There was a quiet finality about this query which did not invite conversation, and Allan turned irresolutely away.
It was in the middle of the next forenoon before Dr. Sands allowed Olivia to talk. She lay on the couch in her aunt's room, a fire of maple logs roaring on the hearth, a cold fine rain whistling against the shaking windows. The turn of the year had come. Miss Rodman had gone off to get some sleep. The famous young oculist was poking determinedly at the fire and calling himself hard names. He might have known that that handsome geologist would make himself obnoxious to Olivia Lane!
"Doctor," spoke Olivia.