"I wish to see Mr. Chesney," she said, in measured, stilted tones.
He held the door open for her to pass through, then closed it noiselessly, and followed her with soundless footsteps along the corridor.
The shutters of Chesney's room were closed, but the curtains were not drawn. A night-light burnt behind a screen. Sophy went to the foot of the bed and stood looking down on her husband. In the moderate light she saw his face, bluish and dusky against the white pillow. He was breathing harshly but regularly. His lips—those lips which she had last seen framing a deadly insult—were parted, and seemed as though pasted against his teeth.
She commanded herself, and moving round to the side of the bed, leaned over and put her hand on his forehead. It was dry, like rough paper, and very hot.
What she felt as she bent over him she could not tell. Perhaps more than anything that though he was so huge and fierce a man, he had now only herself and a valet to help him in his helplessness.
She stood thus a moment, then left the room, beckoning Gaynor to follow her. When they were outside, she said:
"What is this Doctor Carfew's address?"
He gave it to her.
She pondered a moment.