Dr. Elliott looked startled.
“Pneumonia? But that is a shame, Mrs. Petrovskey. Is he in the hospital?”
She hesitated visibly.
“No, he is in his studio at Gramercy Park.”
He mastered a twinge of compunction, and persisted. It was absolutely necessary that the girl should relieve her over-charged heart. That she was apparently in bitter trouble of some sort had been palpable to him ever since he first visited her in the hospital. Now that she was home again and he had met that amiably sinister aunt, he felt more strongly than ever her crying need of help.
“Taken ill while practicing, I suppose?” he continued casually.
With a useless effort to control her convulsed face, Claire met his eyes reproachfully. Why could he not accept her subterfuge?
“Mr. Petrovskey and I are not living together,” she said quickly, mustering a few pitiful shreds of dignity.
The doctor looked ahead at the gleaming snow-covered road in front of them. “Does he know you are pregnant?” he asked curtly.
“Oh no, no! He doesn’t even suspect.” She clasped and unclasped her hands in utter distress. “Please, please, Dr. Elliott!”