“No, except to keep calm and not make a fuss.”
“Oh, I shan’t do that; you needn’t fear. I will say that for myself, I have got nerve.”
“You’re splendid,” said Dr. Ramsay. “I tell you I like to see a man keep his head so well through a job like this.”
“Well, what I came to ask you was—is there any good in my sitting up? Of course I’ll do it if anything can be done; but if not I may as well go to bed.”
“Yes, I think you’d much better; I’ll call you if you’re wanted. I think you might come in and say a word or two to Bertha; it will encourage her.”
Edward entered. Bertha was lying with staring, terrified eyes—eyes that seemed to have lately seen entirely new things, they shone glassily. Her face was whiter than ever, the blood had fled from her lips, and her cheeks were sunken: she looked as if she were dying. She greeted Edward with the faintest smile.
“How are you, little woman?” he asked.
His presence seemed to call her back to life, and a faint colour lit up her cheeks.
“I’m all right,” she said, making an effort. “You mustn’t worry yourself, dear.”
“Been having a bad time?”