in which to do it, or something like that, you see.”
Clyde was so nervous and so full of the necessity of charging Roberta with sufficient energy and courage to go through with this and succeed, now that he had brought her this far along with it, that he scarcely realized how inadequate and trivial, even, in so far as her predicament and the doctor’s mood and temperament were concerned, his various instructions and bits of inexperienced advice were. And she on her part was not only thinking how easy it 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 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 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 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 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 hesitated to even trifle with them. They were illegal, dangerous, involved little
