“What does he think of the fever?”
“Badly, I’m afraid. Now the school is closed he wants it turned into a hospital, and to borrow nurses from Donisbro’, to work with the more effective women here. He thinks the patients will have very little chance of recovery in their own cottages.”
The marquess winced, then reached his desk and pen. “How much money will you want to start with?” he said. “I am, of course, accountable for all this. Save what lives you can, and never mind my pocket.”
There was no time for mincing matters. The doctor told him what would be required, and St. Quentin drew a cheque for the amount and signed it.
“Let me know when more is wanted,” he said. “And now will you go upstairs and look at Sydney. I think she needs change. If you agree, Lady Frederica shall take her off to the South of France somewhere to set her up after all this.”
Dr. Lorry made no comment upon this suggestion, but went quietly upstairs to Sydney. She was awake now, looking rather better for her sleep and eating a basin of soup, which Miss Osric had brought her.
Dr. Lorry sat down beside her on the sofa, felt her pulse, looked into her eyes, and asked if she would like to go to bed.
“I think you would be more comfortable there,” he said, and Sydney did not contradict him.
“Well?” asked St. Quentin anxiously, as Dr. Lorry re-entered the brown library a few minutes later. “How about the South of France—or do you think sea air would be better for her?”