Dorothy went slowly downstairs. She was generally decisive in her actions. Now, she trembled, and a terrible nervousness seized her.
When she reached the little entrance hall, and was about to open the door of the parlor where she expected to find Mrs. Staunton, she was surprised to come face to face with a tall, bronzed young man, who was taking off his hat and hanging it on one of the pegs in the hat-rack. He turned, and started when, he saw her. He was evidently unfamiliar with nurses and sickness. His face flushed up, and he said in a sort of apologetic way:
"Surely this is Dr. Staunton's house?"
"Yes," said Dorothy.
"I am George Staunton. I—I came down on pressing business—I want to see my father in a hurry. What is the matter?"
He stepped back a pace or two, startled by the expression on Dorothy's face.
"Come in here at once," she said, seizing his hand. She dragged him into the seldom-used drawing-room. The moment they got inside, she deliberately locked the door.
"You have come just in time," she said. "You must bear up. I hope you'll be brave. Can you bear a great shock without—without fainting, or anything of that sort?"
"Oh, I won't faint!" he answered. His lips trembled, his blue eyes grew wide open, the pupils began to dilate.
"I believe you are a brave lad," said Dorothy, noticing these signs. "It is your lot now to come face to face with great trouble. Dr. Staunton—your father—is dying."