He accepted it, but with an air which implied that everyone left a card.
In a moment another servant came forth, breathing apologies, and led me to Rosa's private sitting-room. As I went in a youngish, dark-eyed, black-aproned woman, who, I had no doubt, was Rosa's maid, left the room.
Rosa and I shook hands in silence, and with a little diffidence. Wrapped in a soft, black, thin-textured tea-gown, she reclined in an easy-chair. Her beautiful face was a dead white; her eyes were dilated, and under them were dark semicircles.
"You have been ill," I exclaimed, "and I was not told."
She shrugged her shoulders in denial, and shivered.
"No," she said shortly. There was a pause. "He is buried?"
"Yes."
"Let me hear about it."
I wished to question her further about her health, but her tone was almost imperious, and I had a curious fear of offending her. Nevertheless I reminded myself that I was a doctor, and my concern for her urged me to be persistent.
"But surely you have been ill?" I said.