CHAPTER VII
THE doctor arrived at eight. He could not afford to disregard the summons of such a man as Davenport Carstairs. So he told his wife to go on to the Opera without him; he would join her as soon as possible,—in fact, it might be possible to get there before the overture was ended, or, at the very latest, soon after the curtain went up. Make his apologies, and all that. This was an urgent case.
Close on his heels came two men to see Mr. Carstairs....
Miss Hansbury was in a pitiable condition. For the better part of two hours, Frieda Carstairs had been with her. Every one else, not excepting her uncle, was denied admission to the room. From time to time, the sound of voices came through the closed door,—one shrill and rising to the pitch of frenzy, the other firm, gentle, soothing—one that seemed to croon. A sharp-eared listener outside would have caught an occasional sentence wailed in the despairing treble, but he would have made little of it, for it dwindled away into a smothered, inarticulate jumble of words. He might have distinguished the oft-repeated cry: “You know it isn't true! You know it! You know it!”
Carstairs grasped the doctor's arm the instant he entered the apartment.
“For God's sake, Doctor, give her something to quiet her immediately. I—I cannot endure it. We should have waited. I had no idea it would be like this. Mrs. Carstairs hasn't left her for an instant. I can hear her moaning and—”
“Is it this—ah—news about young Steele?” inquired the doctor blandly. He rubbed his hands.
“Yes—yes! We thought it best to tell her before she got it from the servants, or the papers, or—”
“Dreadful affair,—most shocking. I knew him very slightly, but he seemed a most delightful chap. By Jove, it is really distressing, the way the Germans have undermined our very—”
“She is in a most deplorable condition, Doctor. Don't delay an instant, please,—and do not leave her until you are convinced there is no danger of—” He broke off abruptly.