The two doctors came downstairs.
“And what young lady is this?” said Dr. Howard, pausing for a moment and looking at her. He was a tall and very benevolent-looking man, with white hair and dark eyes.
“I want to know,” said Leslie—she paused. Marjorie had not dared to come out of the boudoir. “I want to know the truth—if there is—any hope?”
“Are you the sister of the young lady?” asked the medical man.
“No, only a great friend; but her sister, her twin sister, is in the other room, and she wants to know, and cannot find out.”
“I understand; too upset to ask, poor girl,” said the doctor. “Ericson, if you will permit me, I’ll go in and see that young lady.”
“Oh, how kind of you!” said Leslie. She opened the door, and both doctors went in.
Marjorie had flung herself down in a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
“Now, my dear girl, what is this?” said Dr. Howard. “We shall be having two patients instead of one if this sort of thing goes on. Give me your hand. I assure you, Ericson, this young lady’s pulse is bounding at such a rate that we shall have her in a fever if we don’t look out. This will never do. As to your sister, Miss Chetwynd——”
“Oh, what about her?” cried Marjorie. She flung down her hands, and looked up at the doctor with eyes full of agony.