His timid look, his confused manner, when he made the conventional apologies, told her at once that Teresa had spoken, and that he knew what had happened. Even he had never before been so soothing and so attentive. But he forgot, or he was afraid, to consult appearances by asking what was the matter, before he felt the pulse, and took the temperature, and wrote his prescription. Not a word was uttered by Mrs. Gallilee, until the medical formalities came to an end. “Is there anything more that I can do?” he asked.
“You can tell me,” she said, “when I shall be well again.”
Mr. Null was polite; Mr. Null was sympathetic. Mrs. Gallilee might be herself again in a day or two—or Mrs. Gallilee might be unhappily confined to her room for some little time. He had hope in his prescription, and hope in perfect quiet and repose—he would suggest the propriety of going to bed at once, and would not fail to call early the next morning.
“Sit down again,” said Mrs. Gallilee.
Mr. Null turned pale. He foresaw what was coming.
“You have been in attendance on Miss Carmina. I wish to know what her illness is.”
Mr. Null began to prevaricate at the outset. “The case causes us serious anxiety. The complications are formidable. Doctor Benjulia himself—”
“In plain words, Mr. Null, can she be moved?”
This produced a definite answer. “Quite impossible.”
She only ventured to put her next question after waiting a little to control herself.