His nice blue eyes looked quite distressed.
“How bad?” asked Harriet steadily.
He looked at her quite miserably, the boy, then gathered himself together.
“May I ask—I beg pardon—may I know who I am talking to?” though true to tell he knew who she was, living as he did across from her, but in his young embarrassment did not know how to say so.
The tall, beautiful woman stood a moment before him, then a slow colour came up over her throat and face. “I am Miss Blair—Major Rathbone is—”
Alexina had come close to her side and her young eyes were on the doctor’s appealingly.
He understood; doubtless he had heard the two names connected before; the affairs of the wealthy Miss Blair and the somewhat famous editor were likely to be talked over in a city the size of Louisville, or, perhaps, being young, he merely divined. His distress increased; he looked quite wretched. “It’s bad—I’m mighty sorry to be the one to tell you.”
Did she grow taller, whiter? “Are you—are the doctors still—”
“They are through for the present and coming down now.”
“Then I will go to him. Oh, but I must”—this to the horrified little Sister’s upraised hands of protest and headshake of negation.