A couple of hours passed by. The door was softly opened, and Quentyns stole into the room. He had been very much shocked by the doctor's account of the child, and his face and tone expressed real sympathy as he came up to Hilda.
"Poor little Judy!" he said, bending over her. "What a queer excitable little mite it is."
Hilda beat her foot impatiently.
"Well, my darling," continued Quentyns, not noticing his wife's suppressed agitation, "she will soon be all right now you have come. Lunch is ready, Hilda, and you must be weak for want of food. Come, dearest, let me take you down to the dining room."
"Oh, no, Jasper! I can't leave Judy; and please, please don't talk so loud."
"The doctor does not wish her to be kept too quiet, Hilda; and surely, my dear, you are not going to starve yourself!"
"Aunt Marjorie will send me something to the dressing room; I can't be away from Judy even for one minute. There is no saying when she will awake, and I must be with her when she does."
Quentyns smothered an impatient exclamation. After a pause he said gently:
"As you please, dear; I will bring something up myself to the dressing room for you," and he stole on tip-toe out of the room.
Nothing could be more patient than his manner, and Hilda reproached herself for the feeling of irritation which his presence gave her.