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She thought
of their own library at home, quick to sense the difference.
The doctor went into an adjoining room, and her thoughts were broken by
the low murmur of voices. Then the inner door opened; he was showing a
man through to the outer office. The man stumbled over the rug, and at
his exclamation Ernestine looked up. Her own face paled; she half rose
from her chair;--the native impulse to do something. She looked at Dr.
Parkman. His face was entirely masked. The man passed into the outer
room, leaving behind him something which caused Ernestine's heart to beat
fast.
The doctor walked slowly over to his chair and sat down. He seemed
unconscious of her for a moment, and then he looked at her and saw that
she had seen and that she wanted to know.
"You'd think a man would get used to it," he said in his short, gruff
way. "You'd think it would become a matter of course, but it doesn't.
That man's wife is dying of cancer. It's not an operable case. I told him
that to-day. He asked for the truth and I gave it.


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