“I think,” he began—
Betty turned to him with the air of a mistress of a salon.
“This is a family affair, Dr. Peterson, is it not? There are no secrets that a husband and wife cannot share. I may tell my husband what I believe your opinion to be?”
“My opinion, madam!”
His voice betrayed the rising impatience of a man irritated by finding his discretion taxed beyond its strength. The grim touch of the tragic element banished the veneer of formalism from his face. To pose such a man as Dr. Peterson with a problem in ethics, engendered anger and impatience.
“I am not aware that I have pledged myself to any expression of opinion.”
“No,” and she smiled; “but I can ask you a blunt question, to which ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will be inevitable.”
The specialist met her eyes, and realized that the subtlety of a woman may make a man’s prudence seem ridiculous. He was a rapid thinker, and the complexities of the situation began to shape themselves in his mind. Betty Steel was not a woman whom he would care to hinder with a lie.
“You put me in a most embarrassing position—”
“Believe me, no.”