was for him to stand back and make suggestions, while she
was confronted with the necessity of going forward, and
that alone, but also that he was really thinking more of
himself than he was of her—some way to make her get
herself out of it inexpensively and without any real trouble to
him.
At the same time, even here and now, in spite of all this,
she was still decidedly drawn to him—his white face, his
thin hands, nervous manner. And although she knew he
talked to encourage her to do what he had not the courage
or skill to do himself, she was not angry. Rather, she was
merely saying to herself in this crisis that although he
advised so freely she was not going to pay attention to him
—much. What she was going to say was not that she was
deserted, for that seemed too much of a disagreeable and
self-incriminating remark for her to make concerning
herself, but rather that she was married and that she and
her young husband were too poor to have a baby as yet—
the same story Clyde had told the druggist in Schenectady,
as she recalled. For after all, what did he know about how
she felt? And he was not going with her to make it easier
for her.
Yet dominated by the purely feminine instinct to cling to
some one for support, she now turned to Clyde, taking hold
of his hands and standing quite still, wishing that he would
hold and pet her and tell her that it was all right and that
she must not be afraid. And although he no longer cared for
her, now in the face of this involuntary evidence of her
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former trust in him, he released both hands and putting his
arms about her, the more to encourage her than anything
else, observed: “Come on now, Bert. Gee, you can’t act like
this, you know. You don’t want to lose your nerve now that
we’re here, do you? It won’t be so hard once you get there.
I know it won’t. All you got to do is to go up and ring the
bell, see, and when he comes, or whoever comes, just say
you want to see the doctor alone, see. Then he’ll
understand it’s something private and it’ll be easier.”
He went on with more advice of the same kind, and she,
realizing from his lack of spontaneous enthusiasm for her at
this moment how desperate was her state, drew herself
together as vigorously as she could, and saying: “Well, wait
here, then, will you? Don’t go very far away, will you? I may
be right back,” hurried along in the shadow through the gate
and up a walk which led to the front door.
In answer to her ring the door was opened by one of those
exteriorly as well as mentally sober, small-town practitioners
who, Clyde’s and Short’s notion to the contrary
notwithstanding, was the typical and fairly conservative
physician of the countryside—solemn, cautious, moral,
semi-religious to a degree, holding some views which he
considered liberal and others which a fairly liberal person
would have considered narrow and stubborn into the
bargain. Yet because of the ignorance and stupidity of so
many of those about him, he was able to consider himself
at least fairly learned. In constant touch with all phases of
ignorance and dereliction as well as sobriety, energy,
conservatism, success and the like, he was more inclined,
where fact appeared to nullify his early conclusion in regard
to many things, to suspend judgment between the alleged
claims of heaven and hell and leave it there suspended and
undisturbed. Physically he was short, stocky, bullet-headed
and yet interestingly-featured, with quick gray eyes and a
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589
pleasant mouth and smile. His short iron-gray hair was
worn “bangs” fashion, a bit of rural vanity. And his arms and
hands, the latter fat and pudgy, yet sensitive, hung limply at
his sides. He was fifty-eight, married, the father of three
children, one of them a son already studying medicine in
order to succeed to his father’s practice.
After showing Roberta into a littered and commonplace
waiting room and asking her to remain until he had finished
his dinner, he presently appeared in the door of an equally
commonplace inner room, or office, where were his desk,
two chairs, some medical instruments, books and
apparently an ante-chamber containing other medical
things, and motioned her to a chair. And because of his
grayness, solidity, stolidity, as well as an odd habit he had
of blinking his eyes, Roberta was not a little overawed,
though by no means so unfavorably impressed as she had
feared she might be. At least he was old and he seemed
intelligent and conservative, if not exactly sympathetic or
warm in his manner. And after looking at her curiously a
moment, as though seeking to recognize some one of the
immediate vicinity, he began: “Well, now who is this,
please? And what can I do for you?” His voice was low and
quite reassuring—a fact for which Roberta was deeply
grateful.
At the same time, startled by the fact that at last she had
reached the place and the moment when, if ever, she must
say the degrading truth about herself, she merely sat there,
her eyes first upon him, then upon the floor, her fingers
beginning to toy with the handle of the small bag she
carried.
“You see, well,” she began, earnestly and nervously, her
whole manner suddenly betraying the terrific strain under
which she was laboring. “I came … I came … that is … I
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don’t know whether I can tell you about myself or not. I
thought I could just before I came in, but now that I am here
and I see you …” She paused and moved back in her chair
as though to rise, at the same time that she added: “Oh,
dear, how very dreadful it all is. I’m so nervous and …”
“Well, now, my dear,” he resumed, pleasantly and
reassuringly, impressed by her attractive and yet sober
appearance and wondering for the moment what could
have upset so clean, modest and sedate-looking a girl, and
hence not a little amused by her “now that I see
you,”—“Just what is there about me ‘now that you see me,’”
he repeated after her, “that so frightens you? I am only a
country doctor, you know, and I hope I’m not as dreadful as
you seem to think. You can be sure that you can tell me
anything you wish—anything at all about yourself—and you
needn’t be afraid. If there’s anything I can do for you, I’ll do
it.”
He was decidedly pleasant, as she now thought, and yet so
sober and reserved and probably conventional withal that
what she was holding in mind to tell him would probably
shock him not a little—and then what? Would he do
anything for her? And if he would, how was she to arrange
about money, for that certainly would be a point in
connection with all this? If only Clyde or some one were
here to speak for her. And yet she must speak now that she
was here. She could not leave without. Once more she
moved and twisted, seizing nervously on a large button of
her coat to turn between her thumb and forefinger, and then
went on chokingly.
“But this is … this is … well, something different, you know,
maybe not what you think…. I … I … well …”
Again she paused, unable to proceed, shading from white
to red and back as she spoke. And because of the troubled
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modesty of her approach, as well as a certain clarity of eye,
whiteness of forehead, sobriety of manner and dress, the
doctor could scarcely bring himself to think for a moment
that this was anything other than one of those morbid
exhibitions of innocence, or rather inexperience, in
connection with everything relating to the human body—so
characteristic of the young and unsophisticated in some
instances. And so he was about to repeat his customary
formula in such cases that all could be told to him without
fear or hesitation, whatever it might be, when a secondary
thought, based on Roberta’s charm and vigor, as well as
her own thought waves attacking his cerebral receptive
centers, caused him to decide that he might be wrong. After
all, why might not this be another of those troublesome
youthful cases in which possibly immorality and illegitimacy
was involved. She was so young, healthy and attractive,
besides, they were always cropping up, these cases,—in
connection with the most respectable-looking girls at times.
And invariably they spelled trouble and distress for doctors.
And, for various reasons connected with his own
temperament, which was retiring and recessive, as well as
the nature of this local social world, he disliked and