"And how have you--I mean--is she----?"
"The operation," said the old man, "was entirely successful, and, as it
turned out, most necessary. But of course for so young a patient the
strain was terrible."
"How is she?"
"She came through finely, but I do not conceal from you the fact that
her life hangs by a thread."
I had a premonition that something was going to be "broken" to me. I
dropped into a chair, and waited dully. Then I felt a hand on my
shoulder, and Sir James continued--
"Just weakness, you understand! Her exhaustion when she came out of the
chloroform was extreme, but every moment now is in our favour. Children
have such extraordinary recuperative power."
He was speaking in the usual cheery tones of the bedside optimist. I
raised my head.
"Tell me straight, Sir James--will the child live?"
The old man's grip on my shoulder tightened just for a moment, and when
he spoke it was in an entirely unprofessional voice.
"Thanks to two of the bravest and most devoted of women," he said, "I
think she will."