“My condition has nothing to do with it,” she cried. “Oh, CAN'T I make you understand! I am trying to be lenient, to be—to be—And you come here, you and this woman, and try to—to—You MUST understand! I don't want to know you. I don't want your pity! After your treatment of my mother and my father, I—I—I... Oh!”
She staggered, put her hands to her head, sank upon the bed, and then collapsed in a dead faint.
Hephzy was at her side in a moment. She knew what to do if I did not.
“Quick!” she cried, turning to me. “Send for the doctor; she has fainted. Hurry! And send that—that Briggs woman to me. Don't stand there like that. HURRY!”
I found the Briggs woman in the lower hall. From her I learned the name and address of the nearest physician, also the nearest public telephone. Mrs. Briggs went up to Hephzy and I hastened out to telephone.
Oh, those London telephones! After innumerable rings and “Hellos” from me, and “Are you theres” from Central, I, at last, was connected with the doctor's office and, by great good luck, with the doctor himself. He promised to come at once. In ten minutes I met him at the door and conducted him to the room above.
He was in that room a long time. Meanwhile, I waited in the hall, pacing up and down, trying to think my way through this maze. I had succeeded in thinking myself still deeper into it when the physician reappeared.
“How is she?” I asked.
“She is conscious again, but weak, of course. If she can be kept quiet and have proper care and nourishment and freedom from worry she will, probably, gain strength and health. There is nothing seriously wrong physically, so far as I can see.”
I was glad to hear that and said so.