They found her there when at last the door opened and the two physicians stepped into the hall with Nellie between them. At the sound of the opening door she turned and looked straight into Dr. Crossett's eyes. Judges on the bench have seen such a look on the face of poor, desperate creatures, waiting for the words that would mean life or death.
From one face to the other her eyes turned, at first not daring to read, not daring to credit what she seemed to see.
"You tell the doctor at the dispensary," Dr. Crossett's voice was husky, but his face beamed with triumph, "that he happens to be a jackass. You tell him that I, Dr. Paul Crossett, will make this child's arm as good as new!"
"Oh, no! I don't ask that, Doctor. Just help her a little."
"Is it true?" She turned to Dr. Barnhelm, not daring to believe.
"Gentlemen!" She was not without dignity as she faced them, her arms about her daughter. "You can't expect a woman like me to know how to thank you. I can't ever pay you, not with money, or with words. All I can ever do is--is to pray for you."
"That," replied Dr. Crossett, with the bow he usually reserved for the greatest ladies of his own brilliant world, "that is not often done. It is enough."
"Will they be much longer?" asked John, stepping into the room with a tray of glasses in one hand and a silver cocktail shaker in the other.
"I am sure I don't know," replied Lola, turning from where she still stood by the window, and moving slowly across the room to him. "I am going to try your cocktail, John."
"You? Why, you never drank one in your life."
"What of it? I am curious." She took one of the empty glasses from the tray and held it out to him coaxingly.
"Your father won't like it," he warned her.
He rather reluctantly poured her out a very small drink, as he was far from sure whether or not the Doctor would approve. Lola, up to now, had always shown the most complete distaste for any sort of liquor, a distaste which she really felt; which any healthy young person would feel were it not for the vague general impression that somewhere in the drops of liquor is hidden some hint of romance, some glimpse of mysterious knowledge; the desire of the unknown.
"How very generous," remarked Lola, looking at the few amber drops in the bottom of her glass.