She shook her head again.
“No: not one word. She is his mother. Besides—she is not the kind—she would be of no use.”
“Yes: it is as I thought. Very well, Miss Deronnais; you will have to be responsible. You can wire for me at any moment. You have my address?”
She nodded.
“Then I have one or two things to add. Whatever happens, do not lose heart for one moment. I have seen these cases again and again. … Whatever happens, too, do not put yourself into a doctor’s hands until I have seen Mr. Baxter for myself. The thing may come suddenly or gradually. And the very instant you are convinced it is coming, telegraph to me. I will be here two hours after. … Do you understand?”
They halted twenty yards from the turning into the hamlet. He looked at her again with his kindly humorous eyes.
She nodded slowly and deliberately, repeating in her own mind his instructions; and beneath, like a whirl of waters, questions surged to and fro, clamoring for answer. But her self-control was coming back each instant.
“You understand, Miss Deronnais?” he said again.
“I understand. Will you write to me?”
“I will write this evening. … Once more, then. Get him down next week. Watch him carefully when he comes. Consult no doctor until you have telegraphed to me, and I have seen him.”
She drew a long breath, nodding almost mechanically.