Success. Samuel Hopkins Adams
took the silver-framed portrait and placed it in the flaccid hand. The fingers closed over it. The filmiest wraith of a smile played about the blue lips.
An hour later, Io came out to Banneker waiting fearfully in the big room.
“She won’t have a doctor. I’ve given her the strychnia and she insists she’ll be all right.”
“Don’t you think I ought to go for the doctor, anyway?”
“She wouldn’t see him. She’s very strong-willed. … That’s a wonderful woman, Ban.” Io’s voice shook a little.
“Yes.”
“How did you know about the picture?”
“I saw it on the dresser. And when I saw her eyes, I guessed.”
“Yes; there’s only one thing a woman wants like that, when she’s dying. You’re rather a wonderful person, yourself, to have known. That’s her other secret, Ban. The one I said I couldn’t tell you.”
“I’ve forgotten it,” replied Banneker gravely.
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