“Will you leave a message for him to come at once?”
“At once. At once.”
She wrote a message for Harry and she picked up a wrap and she ran out hatless to find a cab.
She found a cab and went to Doda.
This all happened as quickly as bewilderingly. It was not like a dream, and it was not like a nightmare. It was like a kind of trance to Rosalie.
The foreign friend was not seen at the flat. She was in some other room and did not appear. She said afterwards, and proved, that she had been away the previous night, leaving Doda at the flat, and had returned to find her—as she was found; and had immediately called the nearest doctor and then Doda’s mother.
It was the doctor that opened the door to Rosalie. He was a Scotchman; a big and rugged man, all lines and whiskers and with a rugged accent.
He said, “You’rre her mother, arren’t ye? Where’s her father?”
“He’s coming. Where is my child?”
The doctor jerked his head towards a wall. “She’s yon.”