“Will he wake first?” she asked.
The young fellow seemed to shrink before the majesty of her suffering. Alexina put out a hand to touch her and drew it back, afraid. If only she were not so superbly self-controlled.
“Yes, he will most likely awake,” he assured her, and must have done so even if he had not thought it.
She took off her hat, a large, festive affair with plumes and jewelled buckles, and dropped her wrap. There was a low chair near the bed. She drew it close and sat down, her eyes on the face on the pillow. Jewels gleamed in the lace of her gown, and the shining silk of its folds trailed the floor about her.
Alexina stole across to a far and shadowed corner of the room and sat down by a table. She was crying and striving to keep it noiseless.
The doctor stood irresolute, then made a movement.
“Do you have to go?” said Harriet, turning.
“No; I expect to be here in the building all night. There might come a—change.”
“Stay, please,” she asked him; “here.”
He sat down by the open fire and she turned again to the face on the pillow.