"He is very ill, but he is holding his own. If you will lie down for a few hours, I will call you to take Miss Barker's place while she rests."
This was gratifying, and tended to assuage her bitterness. But the doctor appeared to her anxious, and spent only a few minutes at table. He said as he rose,
Selma would have been glad to dispense with the presence of her sister-in-law. Their relations had not been sympathetic since the episode of Miss Bailey, and, though Pauline still dined at the house once a week, the intercourse between them had become reserved and perfunctory. She grudged sharing with her what might be Wilbur's last hours. She grudged, too, permitting her to help to nurse him, especially now that her own capabilities were in the way of being recognized, for she remembered Dr. Page's partiality for her. Still, she appreciated that she must let her know.
Pauline arrived speedily, and Selma found herself sobbing in her arms. She was pleased by this rush of feeling on her own part, and, confirmed in her belief that her sister-in-law was cold because she did not break down, and, shrinking from her efforts to comfort her, she quickly regained her self-control. Pauline seemed composed and cheerful, but the unceasing watchfulness and manifest tension of the doctor were disconcerting, and as the afternoon shadows deepened, the two women sat grave and silent, appalled by the suspicion that Wilbur's condition was eminently critical. Yet Dr. Page volunteered to say to them presently:
"If his heart holds out, I am hopeful that he will pull through."
Dr. Page had given up all his duties for the sake of Wilbur. He never left the house, manifestly devoting, as shown by the unflagging, absorbed scrutiny with which he noted every symptom and change, the fullest measure of his professional skill and a heart-felt purpose to save his friend's life if human brain or human concentration could avail. And yet he stated to Pauline in Selma's hearing that, beyond keeping up the patient's strength by stimulants, science was practically helpless, and that all they could do was to wait.
And so they sat, still and unemployed watchers, while day turned into darkness. From time to time, by the night-lamp, Selma saw Pauline smiling at her as though in defiance of whatever fate might have in store. Selma herself felt the inclination neither to smile nor to weep. She sat looking before her with her hands clasped, resenting the powerlessness of the few remedies used, and impatient of the inactivity and relentless silence. Why did not the doctor adopt more stringent measures? Surely there was something to be done to enable Wilbur to combat the disease. Dr. Page had the reputation of being a skilful physician, and, presumably, was doing his best; but was it not possible, was it not sensible, to suppose there was a different and better way of treating pneumonia--a way which was as superior to the conventional and stereotyped method as the true American point of view was superior in other matters?