him, freely and
gladly, into new places where he could start all over again and--But even
as she conjured up this sacrificial picture, this false plaisance, her
cheeks grew hot with shame. The real good that was in Anne Tresslyn leaped
into revolt. She hated herself for the thought; she could have cursed
herself. What manner of love was this that could think of self alone? What
of him? What of the man she loved?

She denied herself to callers. At half-past five she called up the
hospital and inquired how Mr. Marraville was getting along. She had a
horrid feeling that the voice at the other end would say that he was dead.
She found a vast relief in the polite but customary "doing very nicely"
reply that came languidly over the wires. Anne was not by way of knowing
that the telephone operators in the hospitals would say very cheerfully
that "Mr. Washington is doing very nicely," if one were to call up to
inquire into the condition of the Father of his Country! An "extra" at six
o'clock announced that the operation had taken place and that Mr.
Marraville had survived it, although it was too soon to,--and so on and so
forth.

Then she called Simmy Dodge up on the telephone. Simmy would know if
anybody knew. And with her customary cleverness and foresightedness she
called him up at the hospital.

After a long delay Simmy's cheery voice came singing--or rather it was
barking--into her ear. This had been the greatest day in the life of Simeon
Dodge. From early morn he had gone about in a state of optimistic unrest.
He was more excited than he had ever been in his life before,--and yet he
was beatifically serene. His brow was unclouded, his eyes sparkled and his
voice rang with all the confidence of extreme felicity. There was no
question in Simmy's mind as to the outcome. Braden would pull the old
gentleman through, sure as anything. Absolutely sure, that's what Simmy
was, and he told other people so.

"Fine as silk!" he shouted back in answer to Anne's low, suppressed
inquiry. "Never anything like it, Anne, old girl. One of the young doctors
told me--"

"Has he come out of the ether, Simmy?"

"What say?"

"Is he conscious? Has the ether--"

"I can't say as to that," said Simmy cheerfully. "He's been back in his
room since five o'clock. That's--let's see what time is it now? Six-
fourteen. Nearly an hour and a quarter. They all say--"

"Have you see Braden?"

"Sure. He's fagged out, poor chap. Strain something awf