Page:The Fruit of the Tree (Wharton 1907).djvu/25

Rh “You shall have it, if you saw that letter. Dillon will certainly lose his hand—and probably the whole arm.” She spoke with a thrilling of her slight frame that transformed the dispassionate professional into a girl shaken with indignant pity.

Amherst stood still before her. “Good God! Never anything but useless lumber?”

“Never”

“And he won’t die?”

“Alas!”

“He has a consumptive wife and three children. She ruined her health swallowing cotton—dust at the factory,” Amherst continued.

“So she told me yesterday.”

He turned in surprise. “You’ve had a talk with her?”

“I went out to Westmore last night. I was haunted by her face when she came to the hospital. She looks forty, but she told me she was only twenty-six.” Miss Brent paused to steady her voice. “It’s the curse of my trade that it’s always tempting me to interfere in cases where I can do no possible good. The fact is, I’m not ﬁt to be a nurse—I shall live and die a wretched sentimentalist!” she ended, with an angry dash at the tears on her veil.

Her companion walked on in silence till she had regained her composure. Then he said: “What did you think of Westmore?” [ 13 ]