She discouraged the visits of Mrs. Dent and
her husband, offered the excuse that strange faces excited the
invalid, and only admitted them during his brief intervals of sleep.
Meanwhile, she used all her professional principles to keep herself
from trying to solve the problem before her eyes. Upstairs was a man
sick unto death, a man who raved ceaselessly of the daughter of the
house. Downstairs, the daughter of the house was going her
accustomed way, with never a question in regard to the man above.
What had happened? How, if anything had happened, how did he chance
to be in that home, with Mrs. Dent as his devoted and anxious slave?
Resolutely, she fell to studying her temperature charts. Her
specialty was fever, not heart disease.
A week after the tide had turned, Carew had been allowed to spend a
short half-hour with the invalid. The next day, by advice of the
nurse, Mr. Dent telephoned to him to come again. Something, whether
in his personality or in his talk, had been of tonic power over
Weldon. It seemed wise to repeat the experiment.
Carew came on the heels of his own voice through the telephone; and
his face was smiling broadly, as he went leaping up the stairs.
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