“The doctor tells me there’s no cause for worry,” he went on. He was curiously anxious to reassure the fellow; he was moved by a great pity for him which he could not have explained. Simply that his voice, his manner, the very atmosphere about him, seemed tragic and terrible. They went on toward the house, Petersen talking cheerfully, neither exacting nor expecting replies from his companion. They entered the hall, and he turned, for the first time, to look at him. Like a madman, like a ghost, so deadly pale and haggard and ruined.... He couldn’t bear to look at him. He turned away, but found the image still in his eyes, the tall, lean fellow with his fine-featured face, his great grey eyes, so sunken and luminous, his straggling beard, his ruffled hair, all his shabbiness and wretchedness. He wanted to propose a bath and a shave before going in to Minnie; the poor devil wasn’t a fit object for her gaze. But he divined the morbid sensitiveness of the famished creature, and was afraid of hurting him. As he hesitated, little Sandra came in from the kitchen. He caught her violently in his arms. “Sandra!” he cried. “_Don’t you know me?_” She looked up into his face. “No,” she whimpered, frightened. “Put me down!” III His interview with Minnie was very brief, for the nurse sent him out without ceremony, and followed him downstairs. “Mr. Petersen,” she said, “I’m going to telephone for the doctor.” The two men looked at her in alarm. “Is she worse?” asked Mr. Petersen. “She’ll soon be better,” answered the nurse, with a smile. Mr. Petersen caught her arm as she was going. “You don’t mean--it’s beginning now?” he asked. “I thought--three weeks more at least----?” The nurse smiled again. “I shouldn’t be surprised!” she said. Mr. Petersen felt utterly frightened and helpless. He looked about in vain for comfort, saw only the very professional nurse, and Alec, more alarmed than himself. “Will it be--bad?” he asked the nurse, but she went hurrying upstairs again. He followed her, but wasn’t allowed to come into the room. “You’ll only make her nervous,” the nurse told him, severely. “You must be sensible now, Mr. Petersen, and not worry me. I’ve got my hands full!” So he went down again and met the doctor coming in. He, too, had the professional cheerfulness so difficult to endure. “Take a drink,” he advised, “and go out for a walk. We don’t need _you_!” He went back into his study once more, and was surprised to see the brother still there. He had forgotten all about him. He poured out a drink for him, too, and sat down, very glad to have someone with him. He became fictitiously cheerful to hide his anguish. And every time he heard a footstep overhead, his heart bounded horribly.