"Serious?"
"That depends," he said, in a low voice, as they stood together at the window. "I hope not. But I suppose the fever will have to run its course."
"It will be some time before he can be back at the theatre?"
"It will be a very long time. There is some slight congestion of the throat as well. When he pulls through with the fever, he will most likely be sent abroad, for rest to his throat."
She considered for a second or two; then she said, with a matter-of-fact air:
"They needn't make a fuss about that. His throat will be all right. It is only repeated congestions that seriously affect the membrane; and he has been exceptionally lucky—or exceptionally strong, perhaps. Who is his doctor?"
"Dr. Ballardyce."
"Don't know him."
"Then there's Dr. Whitsen."
"Oh, that's all right—he'll do. It's the voice that's the important thing; the general system must take its chance. Well, tell him I'm very sorry. I suppose there's nothing one can send him?"