-- Clare dangerously ill... a question of dying,
hospitals. She had suffered for so long that, without
losing his sympathy for her, it had seemed to him
her inevitable condition. It had fallen naturally
upon him to care for her, guard her against damp,
prevent her from lifting objects beyond her strength.
These continuous, small attentions held an important
place in his existence -- he thought about her in a
mind devoted substantially to himself, and it
brought him a glow of contentment, a pleasant feeling
of ministration and importance. It had not occurred
to him that Clare might grow worse, that she
might, in fact, die. The idea filled him with sudden
dismay. His heart contracted with a sharp
hurt. "The hospital," he echoed dully, "Stenton."

"By rights," the doctor iterated; "of course we'll
do what we can here, she might last for a couple of
years more without cutting; and then, again, her
heart might just quit. Still--"

"What would the hospital cost?" Gordon asked,
almost unaware of having pronounced the words.

"It'd be dear -- two hundred and some dollars
anyway, and the money on the nail. The nursing
would count up; then there would be something for
operating, if it was only a little... a lot of things
you don't allow for would turn up."

Two hundred and more dollars! Gordon had a
fleeting vision, against the empurpling banks, the

[[73]]

p072 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p073w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p074

v?