The two men discussed the case for an hour before Kitty came. They were
busy men, and an hour was an unusually long time in which to go through
the claims of even the strangest case. Kitty’s case, though there was an
element of doubt about it, was not strange; but it was, in a doctor’s
phrase, a “nearly perfect case.” Hilton Laurence, poring over the
diagram Anthony had drawn for him, had never seen one so far advanced.
“And she can come here,” he said incredulously, “in a taxi? She must be
a strong young woman; most women, or men, for the matter of that, at her
stage of the proceedings, would be lying drugged in bed with a couple of
nurses in attendance.”
“She isn’t like the ordinary run of women,” said Anthony. “She has the
thoroughbred’s nerve; that’s what seems to give her a chance, a fighting
chance.”
Hilton Laurence glanced quickly at Anthony.
“Do you know her very well,” he demanded,—“as a friend, I mean, as well
as a patient?”
Anthony hesitated a moment, then he faced his friend’s eyes.
“I know her about as well,” he said gravely, “as a man knows a woman
when he can think of nothing else.”
Hilton Laurence shook his head.
“Ah,” he said, “that’s a pity. I’d better do the operating myself, then.
You can help me if you like, of course, but you’ll be asking a good deal
of yourself, Arden. If I were you, I’d leave the case entirely in
another man’s hands.”
“I can’t do that,” said Anthony, quickly, “but I’ll be glad if you’ll do
the actual operating. I’ll see her through the rest; I am asking more of
her than I am of myself. But you have to ask a good deal of people in
order to be of any use to them.”
A discreet parlor-maid came in with a card.
“Show her in,” said Hilton Laurence without looking at Anthony.
Kitty came into the room as if she were arriving at a party—a party
where she expected to be very successfully entertained. She looked
triumphantly well and perfectly mistress of herself. She wore a set of
Russian sables, a little gold-brown fur cap came down low over her dark
curls, her emerald ear-rings danced beneath it, as Anthony remembered
they had danced and flashed the first time he saw her.
She threw back her furs with a little gesture of relief; they were lined
with green brocade and showed a honey-colored chiffon blouse.
Kitty moved like the light _Princess_ in George McDonald’s fairy-tale,
the _Princess_ who could not weep because she had no gravity.
At Anthony’s introduction she gave Hilton Laurence an intimate,
disarming smile. Kitty’s smile was at once an invitation to good
fellowship, and a promise that no tiresome exactions would follow. It
was a smile that said, “Here I am, and I’m sure you’re going to be
awfully nice to me; but you won’t find me a bit of a bother afterward.”
The two men were aware that they had ceased for the moment to be
doctors: Kitty had transformed them into alert and friendly hosts.
Hilton Laurence held a chair for her, and Anthony was sent to find a
biscuit for her Pekinese.
“I hope you don’t mind dogs,” Kitty explained. “As a matter of fact,
Algy isn’t a dog; he’s a Chinese dragon. You can’t keep a real dog in
London, can you? But I must have something that wags. Besides, Algy is
supposed to match my fur. He loves it so much he eats it. I suppose you
haven’t got chocolate biscuits; those are the kind he likes the best.
Your rooms are rather nice, not like a doctor’s a bit. Those old prints
are so jolly, and I suppose you have flower-boxes in the spring—like an
actress. But what a frightful lot of books! Do you make Tony read them?
Poor old Tony! Do tell me about him. I suppose he’s awfully clever,
isn’t he, like the strong, silent men in the detective-stories who find
out everything in the end, if they don’t turn out to be the murderer
themselves? I shouldn’t think you were a silent man, are you, Mr.
Laurence? Though I’m sure you’re a strong one. Tony says I’m to call you
‘Mister,’ because surgeons are smarter than doctors, and the smarter you
are the less there is to show for it. Is that the idea?”
Hilton agreed that it was, only, if you got smarter still, he explained,
they made you a knight, which rather landed you.
The Pekinese being satisfied with sweet biscuits, took the rug in front
of the fire.
The sun came out and played upon the gilt bindings of the medical books
and made patches of gold upon the thick, soft carpet. Kitty eyed it
appreciatively. She loved the sun and thick, soft carpets and all the
ease and brightness of the world. She leaned back in her chair and
surveyed the two men before her with confidence. She knew that she could
handle the occasion with the ease which was natural to her in all
situations which contained men.
Men can put up with disagreeable occasions, but they do not like to feel
that any woman they admire finds an occasion disagreeable, and Kitty
invariably let them off this realization.
“You do yourselves awfully well,” she said appreciatively, “don’t you? I
think it’s so sensible. Now here’s a place where I suppose a certain
amount of tiresome things go on—and yet it’s quite cosy and nice to
look at—and I expect, Mr. Laurence, you have a first-rate cook? Anthony
didn’t say if I was to stay to lunch or not—I’ve never been to a
doctor’s before—so I don’t in the least know what happens, but I
suppose you ring a bell and turn me out when you have had enough of me?
Perhaps Tony gets up on the hearth rug and says ‘Well—?’ I’ve tried
that and it generally succeeds—when it doesn’t I turn on a gramophone
with a record of Tosti’s ‘Good-by.’ You might find that useful, Mr.
Laurence—of course it’s rather affectionate.”
“Kitty,” said Anthony, quietly, “I think you’d better come over here and
let us have a look at you. You’ll have to take your things off, and lie
down on this little sofa.”
The two men turned to each other while Kitty strolled across the room.
She stood in the patch of sunlight, and slipped off the security of her
sable furs.
She was silent now, but there was a tranquillity in her silence compared
with which the perfunctory conversation of the two surgeons together was
nothing but a nervous flurry. They had to say something, but Kitty
hadn’t. She looked out of the window, lay down on the sofa, and turned
her eyes in the direction of Algy, who yawned.
“Now we’ll just have a look at you,” said Hilton Laurence, with a
renewed and impersonal cheerfulness.
Anthony said nothing. He stood on the other side of Kitty with his eyes
fixed intently on his colleague. He was trying to see Kitty not with his
own eyes, but with Hilton Laurence’s eyes. He was determined to know and
feel about her exactly what Hilton Laurence knew and felt, so that he
would not be deceived by the sharpness of his own personal hopes and
fears. He ceased to think of Kitty herself in his anxiety to read the
other man’s mind.
Hilton Laurence was not thinking of Kitty’s personality either. She had
become a case, an extraordinarily interesting, madly neglected, case.
She was not a human being any longer; she was a little undressed figure
on a sofa, a pitifully broken figure lying there to be, if possible,
mended.
She was forgotten, but she herself did not forget; her mind wandered
with amused serenity over the men before her. They couldn’t be only
doctors to Kitty; they were men, and it was the first time she had ever
seen men intensely at work.
All the rest of her life had been connected with men at play.
Kitty had been their play. Games, dances, and entertainments had filled
in the hours, and she had shared them all with an admirable mastery; but
she knew that she herself was the aim of all the other pleasures. The
men she knew had been intent, but they were intent on pleasing her, and
these two men, who had forgotten her altogether, were just as intent
without there being any question of pleasure.
She wondered curiously what it would have been like for her if she had
had something to do, something besides men to interest her. Her whole
life might have been different; less amusing, perhaps, but more worth
while. She might have been just as attractive, but with something else
to fall back on—something with more permanence and dignity. But perhaps
she couldn’t have managed both. Being attractive took a great deal of
time. Her father had once told her: “People who rely on their natural
charm wear it out or have to become unselfish. It’s a subject to which
you must devote your whole attention in order to succeed.” And
apparently the interest of work took time, too. After all, you couldn’t
have everything.
Kitty was glad that she had seen Anthony at work. Work would be good for
him; it would be good for him whatever happened.
The Pekinese stopped yawning, drew his way slowly through the
lamb’s-wool mat, and sniffed suspiciously at the two doctors’ legs.
“Silly old thing!” murmured Kitty. “They aren’t doing me any harm. They
think they’re doing me good; that’s their idea, anyhow.”
Hilton Laurence was recalled by her voice. He spoke with his habitual
reassurance, but without looking at her.
“Thanks,” he said; “I think we’ve seen enough. If you don’t mind, Miss
Costrelle, there are just one or two points we’d better discuss while
you’re dressing up again. I’m afraid we’ve tired you, rather. Shall I
send you in a glass of wine and a biscuit?”
Kitty shook her head. She thought it rather funny of the two men to go
away and leave her, but it made it convenient to powder her nose.
Laurence had a sensible looking-glass.
When they came back they found the same conquering princess as before.
Kitty’s head rested against a black cushion, and the Pekinese was rolled
up in her lap.
Kitty had a habit of complete muscular control, so that she made very
few useless movements. She could sit perfectly still for hours without
stiffness or restlessness. She sat quite still now, smiling across the
room at the two men as they came back to her.
Anthony had himself well in hand. His face expressed nothing; he even
gave Kitty a slight answering smile, which did not touch the controlled
gravity of his eyes. But Hilton Laurence came in with a reluctance he
could not quite hide; he hated to pass sentence on this radiant young
life before him. The thought of it made him look tired and old. He could
stand his friend’s iron self-control, but it was harder to meet the
friendly gaiety of Kitty.
He drew a chair opposite her and said quickly:
“I’m not going to beat about the bush, Miss Costrelle. That lump of
yours is a nuisance; we’ve got to get rid of it. Arden and I are both of
one mind; we think surgical treatment is needed.”
“Surgical treatment means an operation, Kitty,” said Anthony, with a
little twisted smile; “it’s our pretty way of putting it.”
“No, I don’t want to be pretty,” corrected Hilton Laurence, frowning;
“I’m going to be perfectly straight with you. This operation, which is
for bad glands, is a tedious, difficult, and serious business, and
you’re not in the very best condition to have it. But you’re a brave
girl, and I think you’ll stand it.”
“Is it only glands?” asked Kitty, playing with one of Algy’s long, soft
ears.
“Aren’t very bad glands enough for you?” asked Hilton Laurence, quickly.
Perhaps he asked his counter-question a shade too quickly. Kitty’s eyes
rested on him thoughtfully, then they turned to Anthony.
“Is it only glands, Tony?” she repeated.
“We’re not perfectly sure ourselves,” said Anthony, gently; “but in any
case, we think it’ll help the pain, Kitty.”
“You’ll undoubtedly be the gainer by it,” interposed Hilton Laurence.
“You don’t stand to lose anything by the operation, Miss Costrelle.”
“No,” she said quietly; “only, of course, I’ll be ill, sha’n’t I—I mean
it’s just lying in bed and having nurses and being an invalid? It’s
rather sickening, isn’t it?”
“Life is a sickening business, Miss Costrelle,” said Hilton Laurence,
gravely.
None of them said anything for a time. The fire crackled busily on the
hearth, the winter sunshine filled the quiet room. There was nothing to
be said against the impalpable and awkward fact that would turn a gay
princess into a stricken, hopeless invalid. The two men facing Kitty
could perhaps ease her downfall, but they could not prevent it. They
knew what lay before her.
It was impossible to say what Kitty knew. She was grave for a few
moments, then she picked up Algy and shook him.
“He likes to sleep,” she explained, “in the middle of the morning,
though he’s quite young, really. I think it’s the cream he takes for
breakfast—he will have it—and it goes to his head. It’s in the Bible,
isn’t it, how shocking it is to be drunk at the third hour of the day? I
don’t know if it was meant to include Pekes.”
She rose with her light, careless grace and glanced over her shoulder at
Anthony.
“Let’s go to Kew in a taxi and have lunch at Richmond, Tony,” she
suggested. “It’s such a heavenly day.”
Hilton Laurence gave a sigh of relief. She didn’t understand, then; he
smiled paternally upon her.
“You couldn’t have a better program,” he exclaimed; “the air will do you
all the good in the world.”
“All the good in the world?” repeated Kitty, teasingly. “And how much do
you suppose that is?”
Of course she knew that nothing would do her any good. A dazed look had
come over Anthony’s face; he stood quite still by the door, holding it
open for her.
Hilton Laurence transferred his swift, clear-cut attention to Anthony.
“Hand me over your case-notes for to-day, old boy,” he said quietly.
“I’ll take them over for you.”
Anthony pulled himself together.
“Thanks,” he said gratefully; “but I must just go and telephone to the
hospital.”
Kitty passed out into the hall. Hilton Laurence followed her. She laid
her hand on his arm with a little friendly gesture of persuasion.
“Look here,” she said in a rapid undertone. “When I’m dead, make Tony
stick to his work, make him think he ought to help people. He likes
helping people, you know. It’s funny; I had no idea work mattered so
much to men, but I see it does. Make him stick to it. You see, it would
be such an awful pity for Tony to be smashed, wouldn’t it? Because he
really _does_ help people, and awfully few people ever really help. They
just make a fuss on the top; they don’t go down into it. I’m sure you
know what I mean.”
“My dear young lady—” stammered Hilton Laurence. Of course he ought to
say she wasn’t going to be dead, but something in Kitty’s eyes checked
him. He didn’t say it.
They stood for a long, queer moment in the hall holding each other’s
eyes. Then Kitty heard Anthony’s returning footsteps. She smiled at
Hilton Laurence, reassuringly.
“I dare say I shall get better, and it won’t matter,” she murmured
soothingly. “Another time,” she added in her clear, high little voice,
“perhaps you’ll invite me to lunch. Could he, Tony? Or is it one of your
dreadful rules that doctors can’t eat with patients—like prisoners with
their executioners? I’m fearfully hungry, but I dare say I shall hold
out till I get to Richmond. Tell the man to drive fast.”
Kitty leaned back in the taxi, and Algy, yapping with tremendous zeal,
poised himself on her knees. He was prepared to feel that he himself was
the engine. Every nerve in his small, erect body responded to the
winding-up of the car. He stood upon Kitty’s lap as an admiral stands
upon his bridge, ready to direct the biddable universe.
Kitty turned her head and looked back at Hilton Laurence. He did not
usually stand on the steps to say farewell to his patients, but he stood
there now.
“Promise you’ll keep him up to it?” called Kitty, touching Anthony’s arm
with her hand.
“I promise,” agreed Hilton Laurence, steadily.
“What’s that you’ve made him promise?” asked Anthony as they moved
quickly down Wimpole Street, and flashed up the bustling stretch of
traffic stretching away toward the Marble Arch.
“Oh, it’s just a little thing I wanted him to do for me,” replied Kitty,
lightly. “And now I’m going to enjoy myself.”