The worst trouble lay in the wounds about the head. But there were other dreadful complications, and many times in the hours that followed it seemed that the game was lost. All through the tiresome ordeal not once did a muscle of the great surgeon quiver. Not once did he show dismay at that which was most baffling; not once did he show weakness at that which was most pitiful. But when at last his great task was ended, his face was worn and gray. Yet as he went to change his clothes, through the fabric of his weariness and of his anxiety ran a thread of joy in the thought that the barriers were down between himself and Diana, and that he might love her now without reproach. When at last he descended to his little office, he spoke hopefully. "His strength and youth are in his favor--and I'm going to pull him through." Yet he knew in his heart that he was flinging a defiance at destiny. He arranged to keep Bettina at Harbor Light. "Justin might ask for you again," was his explanation. So Bobbie and Doris and Sara and Sophie went away together, and when there was no one else to hear, Anthony said to Bettina, gently, "My dear, why didn't you tell me?" Curled up in a big leather chair, she spoke of her fear of hurting him, of being inconstant--like her father. She seemed such a child in her blue serge suit with its red silk tie, and with the shady hat which had been pinned on hastily when the summons came. But the things she was saying were womanly things, and for the first time since he had known her Anthony perceived the possibilities of which Diana had been so sure--this little Betty child, transformed by love, would one day be an inspiration and a help to the man she would marry. "If I have hurt you," she said, as she finished, "I--I can only ask you to forgive me. If this had not happened, I think I should have--kept my promise. But now you know--and you will not want me to keep it." "No. I do not want you to keep it. Oh, what a tragedy we have made of it all. I might have made it so easy for you." "You, Anthony?" "Yes." He sat silent for a moment, his fingers tapping the arm of his chair, those strong flexible fingers which an hour ago had done such magical feats of surgery. Bettina's eyes were held by them. "I hardly know how to begin; it has to do with--Diana." "Diana?" "I love her, dear----" "Diana?" Bettina spoke, breathlessly. "Oh, and does she love you--Anthony?" "I have always loved her--but I thought I had lost her--then when she came back from Europe I found that she was still free--and that--she cared. But by that time I had engaged myself to a dear child who really didn't love me at all." "But why didn't you tell me, Anthony?" "Because, my dear, I thought you might be made unhappy."