'm Rosemary's friend. Jim and I are both as much
interested in Ralston Murray's case as if he were our brother. In a way,
we're responsible for the marriage--at least, we advised it. I know
Rosemary well, I believe, though she has a hard nature to understand.
And if you had an unfavourable impression of her, perhaps out of my
knowledge I might explain it away."

"Well, to tell the truth," said Sir Beverley bluntly, "when I gave the
verdict which I'd thought would enchant her, Mrs. Murray seemed--not
happy, but terrified. I expected for a second or two that she would
faint. I must confess, I felt--chilled."

"What--did she say?" I faltered.

"She said nothing at all. She looked--frozen."

"I hope poor Murray didn't get the same impression you got?" said Jim.

"I don't think he did. She was sitting on the edge of his sofa, holding
his hand, after I'd made my examination of the patient, and had called
her back into the room. And when I told them what I hoped, I saw Mrs.
Murray squeeze his fingers suddenly very tight with her small ones. To
me--combined with the staring look in her eyes--the movement seemed
convulsive, such as you might see in a prisoner, pronounced guilty by
the foreman of the jury. But naturally no thought of that kind jumped
into Murray's head! When she pressed his hand, he lifted hers to his
lips and kissed it. All the same, my impression remained--like a lump of
ice I'd swallowed by mistake--until Mrs. Murray so eagerly offered her
blood for her husband. Then I had to acknowledge that she must be truly
in love with him--for some women, even affectionate wives, wouldn't have
the physical or mental courage for such an ordeal."

"I hope she won't weaken when the time comes!" exclaimed Jim.

"I don't somehow think she will weaken," Sir Beverley replied, a puzzled
frown drawing his thick eyebrows together.

I was puzzled, too, but I praised Rosemary, and gave no hint of my own
miserable, reawakened suspicions. What I wanted to do was to see her as
soon as possible, and judge for myself.

CHAPTER VIII

WHILE WE WAITED

When Sir Beverley Drake undertakes a case, he puts his whole soul into
it, and no sacrifice of time or trouble is too much. I loved the dear
man when he quietly announced that he would live at Ralston Old Manor,
coming in the day before the transfusion, and remaining till what he
called the "end of the treatment, first phase."

This meant that he would be on the spot for