She looked down at her left hand, which lay outside the coverlet, and fear was in her eyes. She had defied men too long to be afraid of God, but she did not want to die; she had too keen an enjoyment for the good things of this world.
Eve came to the bedside.
Mrs. Harrington’s face was drawn together in anger. She was annoyed that Death should have come for her, and, true to herself, she insulted him by deliberately ignoring his presence. There was something defiant in her cold eyes still, something unbeaten, although she knew that there was no one on her side. The general feeling was against her. So far as the world was concerned, Death could have her.
Eve turned away from the bed and faced the doctor, who was coming into the room with Mrs. Harrington’s maid. No one displayed the slightest emotion. A selfish life and a happy death are rarely vouchsafed to the same person. The doctor did not ask Eve to stay, so she went downstairs and wrote to Fitz, sending the note round to his rooms in Jermyn Street by a servant. It was the second time in her life that she had sent for Fitz.
When the doctor came downstairs, Eve went out into the hall. He pointed with his finger to the room from which she came, and followed her back there. He was a middle-aged man, educated to the finger-tips - all science and no heart.
“Are you a relation of Mrs. Harrington’s?” he inquired.
“We are distantly connected,” answered Eve.
The doctor was not giving much attention to her answer. He had a habit of tapping his teeth with his thumbnail, which made Eve dislike him at sight.
“Has she any one else?” he asked. “Any one who--cares?”
He was quite without the intention of being rude but he was absorbed in his profession, and had a large practice. He wanted to go.