"I will go to her," said Yorke at once.
They went upstairs, and Finetta turned her great eyes upon them.
"What has he been telling you, Yorke?" she asked feebly. "Am I going to die? Don't be afraid, I'm not a milksop, and I shan't go into hysterics and make a scene. I suppose I've got to die, as well as other people."
"No, no, there is no talk of dying, Fin," he said.
"Then what is it? Why do you both look so glum?" she said, impatiently. "There's nothing much in falling down a trap: I've seen heaps of people do it. What is it? Am I going to be laid up long? Ask him how soon I shall be able to dance again?"
"Better be quiet," said the doctor, with his hand on her pulse.
"You answer my question," she retorted as furiously as her weakness would allow.
"I'll answer any questions you like to-morrow," he said soothingly. "I want you to rest now."
"They're all like that—a pack of old women," she said, "and they think we're all old women too! Rest! ah, if he could give me something that would make me rest——. Don't go, Yorke; not yet. I—I want to say something to you. It's a long time since you were here, Yorke," and she sighed.