Alexandra could only stand and struggle with her voice. Her feelings were beyond expression.
"I'm afraid—terribly afraid we have to face losing her," said Chalfont at last.
"Oh, I hope not," she said fervently, while the tears streamed down her face. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes, there is." What he had to say cost him a struggle. "Her husband ought to know. He ought to be here. I doubt whether a telegram would be any use, and I can't go to him. Will you?"
"I'll do anything," she said.
"Thank you. I'll have the car round at once then." He looked at his watch. "It's six now. You can be in town by a little after eight. You'll catch him at the theater. Try and bring him back with you. It—the operation—will be over by that time. We shall know—one way or the other. You would like to see her before you start?"
"Please." Alexandra was very white, but she was quiet now that she knew the worst and had not to await in inactivity. "She told me she would like a priest," she said. "I think you should send for one."
"I have already."
She took a step toward the door but turned suddenly and without speaking put her hand out. He grasped and held it tightly, taking comfort from the action.
"You'll do your best, I know," he said gratefully.