“Only my youngest boy, your ladyship, but Dr. Murchison soon had him in hand.”
“Ah, quite so; good-day, Mr. Carrington,” and she relieved him from the splendor of her notice, and turned to Murchison, who was waiting at her elbow.
“What a noble profession, the physician’s, Dr. Murchison!”
The big, brown-faced man smiled, and his eyes wandered unconsciously in the direction of his wife.
“It has its responsibilities,” he said, “and also its compensations.”
Lady Sophia waved her lorgnette to and fro, and beamed to the extent of the five-guinea check she had contributed to the relief fund. She was wondering whether it was possible that this quiet, clear-eyed man could ever have been the victim of such a thing as drink. If so—then he was to be pitied, and not abused.
“It must be so gratifying, Dr. Murchison, to save the life of a fellow-being.”
“Yes, it is something to be grateful for.”
“How well your wife looks! I hear she has been working here, like any trained nurse.”
Catherine, dancing a doll before the thin little hands of a child of four, was serenely oblivious of the great lady’s praise. Porteus Carmagee was watching her, smiling, and rattling his keys in his pocket.