That sent her back into the room, as he knew it would.  It was, for her, a wonderfully interesting hour which followed, for Dr. Leaver and Mrs. Burns fell to discussing life in a certain great city, as both knew it from quite different standpoints, and she herself had only to listen and observe.  She thought the pair upon the davenport made a striking picture, the woman in her rich and still youthful beauty, her smile a thing to wonder at, her voice low music to the ear; the man, though no older than Burns, worn and grave, yet with a strangely winning personality, and eyes which seemed to see far beneath the surface.  In all Amy Mathewson’s experience with the men of Burns’s profession, she had never met just such a one as John Leaver.  The sense of his personal worth and dignity was strong upon her as she watched him; his evident fatigue and weakness appealed to her sympathies; and she forgot herself more completely than she had imagined she could when first summoned to the unaccustomed part she was this evening playing.

But, quite suddenly, the scene changed.  In the act of speaking Dr. Leaver suddenly stopped, put one hand to his side, and lay back against the high end of the davenport, breathing short, his face turning pallid, ashen.  Ellen rose to her feet in dismay, but Amy Mathewson sprang toward him, drew him with strong arms gently down to a position more nearly recumbent, and with fingers on his pulse said in a low voice, “Call the Doctor, please.”

Ellen ran, and in a minute had Burns there, striding in, in his white office jacket, his face tense with sudden anxiety.  Leaver was panting for breath as Burns felt his pulse and nodded at Amy, who hurried quietly away.  She was back very quickly, handing Burns a tiny instrument ready for use.  In a moment more the supporting drug was on its way to lend aid, and Burns was bending over his friend again, laying a gentle hand upon the damp forehead, and saying with quiet assurance: 

“All right, old boy.  We’ll have you comfortable in no time.  You were too tired to play society man to-night, and we oughtn’t to have allowed it.”

It was not very long before Leaver was breathing more easily, and a trace of colour had come back to his face.  He moved his head and tried to speak naturally: 

“I am—­rather—­ashamed of myself—­”

“You’ve no business to be.  When a fellow is played out Nature takes her innings—­and she takes all that’s coming to her.  You’re going up to bed in a few minutes, and you’re going to stay there till the rest has had a chance to get in some work.  Miss Mathewson will stay with you for a bit.  She’s a famous nurse.”

Leaver’s head moved in surprised protest, and Miss Mathewson spoke: 

“He doesn’t know, Dr. Burns, that that is my profession.”

Burns laughed.  “Oh, I see.  That was a bit startling, for a fact.  But she is, Leaver, the most accomplished of her guild, and my right-hand man.  She can make you more comfortable in an hour than I can in a week.”