The head showed a mass of thick dark-brown hair, unbound and falling about the shoulders. The upper part of the face was hidden by a wide bandage wound several times around the head. The arms were bare and lay outside the coverlet. They were well rounded, and the hands were small and beautiful.
Carlson stood silently beside the bed at first, watching the patient’s deep and rapid breathing, and assembling his professional manner. The hand nearest him was trembling slightly. As he took it up, to feel the pulse, the arm jerked and the whole body shook, as if under profound nervous tension. A thrill of compassion and pity ran through him as he held the trembling little hand.
“Don’t be afraid, Madam,” he said rather huskily. “I’m the doctor. I want to feel your pulse.”
Instantly the trembling stopped and her fingers tightened about his. He noted the pulse rate with his other hand, and found it rapid, about 120. The hand and wrist were burning hot.
He let go of the hand and took a thermometer from his vest pocket. After shaking it down several times he placed it in her mouth and closed her lips with his fingers, saying:
“Hold it that way for five minutes, please.”
Again he took her hand, pretending to count the pulse beats by his wrist watch, but in reality thinking as hard as he could. The thermometer was actually a one-minute thermometer, but he wished to gain as much time as possible. When at last he took it from her mouth and held it to the light it registered 105. Involuntarily he whistled. Here was a very sick woman, indeed!
“How long have you been sick?”
“Three days.” The voice was soft, but deep and sweet.
“Is your throat sore?”