done this way, I'm afraid," it was Dr. Lambert's voice
again. "We'll have to operate. I hate to do it, too."

A nurse came out to see if Eugene were near. "You had better go down
into the waiting room, Mr. Witla," she cautioned. "They'll be bringing
her out pretty soon. It won't be long now."

"No," he said all at once, "I want to see for myself." He walked into
the room where Angela was now lying on the operating table in the centre
of the room. A six-globed electrolier blazed close overhead. At her head
was Dr. Willets, administering the anaesthetic. On the right side was Dr.
Lambert, his hands encased in rubber gloves, bloody, totally unconscious
of Eugene, holding a scalpel. One of the two nurses was near Angela's
feet, officiating at a little table of knives, bowls, water, sponges,
bandages. On the left of the table was Miss De Sale. Her hands were
arranging some cloths at the side of Angela's body. At her side,
opposite Dr. Lambert, was another surgeon whom Eugene did not know.
Angela was breathing stertorously. She appeared to be unconscious. Her
face was covered with cloths and a rubber mouth piece or cone. Eugene
cut his palms with his nails.

So they have to operate, after all, he thought. She is as bad as that.
The Caesarian operation. Then they couldn't even get the child from her
by killing it. Seventy-five per cent. of the cases recorded were
successful, so the book said, but how many cases were not recorded. Was
Dr. Lambert a great surgeon? Could Angela stand ether--with her weak
heart?

He stood there looking at this wonderful picture while Dr. Lambert
quickly washed his hands. He saw him take a small gleaming steel
knife--bright as polished silver. The old man's hands were encased in
rubber gloves, which looked bluish white under the light. Angela's
exposed flesh was the color of a candle. He bent over her.

"Keep her breathing normal if you can," he said to the young doctor. "If
she wakes give her ether. Doctor, you'd better look after the arteries."

He cut softly a little cut just below the centre of the abdomen
apparently, and Eugene saw little trickling streams of blood spring
where his blade touched. It did not seem a great cut. A nurse was
sponging away the blood as fast as it flowed. As he cut again, the
membrane that underlies the muscles of the abdomen and protects the
intestines seemed to spring into view.

"I don't want to cut too much," said the surgeon calmly--almost as
though he