"He mustn't go near business," said Mr Alfred Heve, the doctor, coming
to Edwin, who was waiting in the drawing-room, after a long examination
of Darius.
Mr Heve was not wearing that gentle and refined smile which was so
important a factor in the treatment of his patients and their families,
and which he seemed to have caught from his elder brother, the vicar of
Saint Peter's. He was a youngish man, only a few years older than Edwin
himself, and Edwin's respect for his ability had limits. There were two
other doctors in the town whom Edwin would have preferred, but Mr Heve
was his father's choice, notable in the successful soothing of querulous
stomachs, and it was inevitably Mr Heve who had been summoned. He had
arrived with an apprehensive, anxious air. There had been a most
distinct nervousness in his voice when, in replying to Edwin's question,
he had said, "Perhaps I'd better see him quite alone." Edwin had
somehow got it into his head that he would be present at the interview.
In shutting the dining-room door upon Edwin, Mr Heve had nodded timidly
in a curious way, highly self-conscious. And that dining-room door had
remained shut for half an hour. And now Mr Heve had emerged with the
same embarrassment.
"Whether he wants to or not?" Edwin suggested, with a faint smile.
"On no account whatever!" said the doctor, not answering the smile,
which died.
They were standing together near the door. Edwin had his fingers on the
handle. He wondered how he would prevent his father from going to
business, if his father should decide to go.
"But I don't think he'll be very keen on business," the doctor added.
"You don't?"
Mr Heve slowly shook his head. One of Mr Heve's qualities that
slightly annoyed Edwin was his extraordinary discretion. But then Edwin
had always regarded the discreetness of doctors as exaggerated. Why
could not Heve tell him at once fully and candidly what was in his mind?
He had surely the right to be told! ... Curious! And yet far more
curious than Mr Heve's unwillingness to tell, was Edwin's unwillingness
to ask. He could not bring himself to demand bluntly of Heve: "Well,
what's the matter with him?"
"I suppose it's shock," Edwin adventured.
Mr Heve lifted his chin. "Shock may have had a little to do with it,"
he answered doubtfully.
"And how long must he be kept off business?"
"I'm afraid there's not much chance of him doing any more business,"
said Mr Heve.
"Really!" Edwin murmured. "Are you sure?"
"Quite."
Edwin did not feel the full impact of this prophecy at the moment.
Indeed, it appeared to him that he had known since the previous midnight
of his father's sudden doom; it appeared to him that the first glimpse
of his father after the funeral had informed him of it positively. What
impressed him at the moment was the unusual dignity which characterised
Mr Heve's embarrassment. He was beginning to respect Mr Heve.
"I wouldn't care to give him more than two years," said Mr Heve, gazing
at the carpet, and then lifting his eyes to Edwin's.
Edwin flushed. And this time his `Really!' was startled.
"Of course you may care to get other advice," the doctor went on. "I
shall be delighted to meet a specialist. But I tell you at once my
opinion." This with a gesture of candour.
"Oh!" said Edwin. "If you're sure--"
Strange that the doctor would not give a name to the disease! Most
strange that Edwin even now could not demand the name.
"I suppose he's in his right _mind?_" said Edwin.
"Yes," said the doctor. "He's in his right _mind_." But he gave the
reply in a tone so peculiar that the affirmative was almost as
disconcerting as a negative would have been.
"Just rest he wants?" said Edwin.
"Just rest. And looking after. I'll send up some medicine. He'll like
it." Mr Heve glanced absently at his watch. "I must be going."
"Well--" Edwin opened the door.
Then with a sudden movement Mr Heve put out his hand.
"You'll come in again soon?"
"Oh yes."
In the hall they saw Maggie about to enter the dining-room with a
steaming basin.
"I'm going to give him this," she said simply in a low voice. "It's so
long to dinner-time."
"By all means," said Mr Heve, with his little formal bow.
"You've finished seeing him then, doctor?"
He nodded.
"I'll be back soon," said Edwin to Maggie, taking his hat from the rack.
"Tell father if he asks I've run down to the shop."
She nodded and disappeared.
"I'll walk down a bit of the way with you," said Mr Heve.
His trap, which was waiting at the corner, followed them down the road.
Edwin could not begin to talk. And Mr Heve kept silence. Behind him,
Edwin could hear the jingling of metal on Mr Heve's sprightly horse.
After a couple of hundred yards the doctor stopped at a house-door.
"Well--" He shook hands again, and at last smiled with sad sweetness.
"He'll be a bit difficult to manage, you know," said Edwin.
"I don't think so," said the doctor.
"I'll let you know about the specialist. But if you're sure--"
The doctor waved a deprecating hand. It might have been the hand of his
brother, the Vicar.
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