“No, sir, a doctor can do nothing—nothing at all.”
“What can we do?” Keeley asked, eagerly.
“I don’t know yet—perhaps if you’d just wait down here, till I see how she is now——”
“Merry,” called a man’s voice from upstairs, and she hurried away.
I recognized the tones of John Merivale and I did not offer to go upstairs with the nurse, knowing she would call us, if necessary.
I longed to be with Alma, to comfort and care for her, but I could not intrude uninvited.
But after we had waited perhaps a half hour, Alma came downstairs and out to the porch where we sat.
She was composed, but with a new sadness in her eyes and a new droop to her lovely lips.
“I will tell you all,” she said, quietly, as she sat down, opposite to the three of us. “Since you know of my sister’s existence, there is no more occasion for secrecy.”
“Take it easy, Miss Remsen,” said March, with well-meant kindness, and Keeley rose, and then went and sat beside her.