An instant later he looked a little nervously at the door, as though hoping that no one had heard his words, nor the tone in which he had spoken them. A dark flush rose in his face and the veins at his temple swelled suddenly, while his grip on the chair seemed to tighten, and he turned his eyes on his wife.
“Dying!” he repeated in a low voice. “What has happened to him? When did you hear of this?”
Mrs. Lauderdale had not expected him to show so much feeling. She, herself, was far from calm, however, and did not notice his extreme agitation as though it were anything unnatural.
“Doctor Routh came to tell me,” she answered. “He’s been there all the morning—and as there was time before luncheon, I thought I’d come—”
“But what’s the matter with the old gentleman? This is very surprising news—very sad news, Emma.”
A rather spasmodic, electric smile had momentarily appeared on Alexander Lauderdale’s face, disappearing again instantly, as he uttered the last words.
“I’m very much overcome by this news,” he added, after a short hesitation.
He did not appear to be so deeply grieved as he said that he was, but the words were appropriate, and Mrs. Lauderdale recognized the fact at once.
“It will make a great difference,” she said.
“Yes, I should say so. I should say so,” repeated Alexander Junior, not with emphasis, but slowly and thoughtfully. “However,” he continued, suddenly, “we mustn’t count—I mean—yes—we—we mustn’t altogether place our confidence in man—though Doctor Routh certainly stands at the head of his profession. It’s our duty to see that other physicians are called in consultation. We must do our utmost to help. Indeed—it might have been wiser if you had gone there at once and had sent a messenger for me, instead of coming here. But—yes—you haven’t told me what the matter is, my dear. Is it—anything in the nature of apoplexy—or the heart—you know? At his age, people rarely—but, of course, while there’s life, there’s hope. We mustn’t forget that.”