The door was opened by a woman whose dress proclaimed her to be an institution nurse. Field slept, and Mamie sank into a chair, and waited for his wakening.
"How is he?" she asked in a low tone.
The nurse shook her head.
"He's not doing as well as we could wish, ma'am."
"Is Mr. Porteous here?"
"Mrs. Porteous. She'll be coming presently. She lives close by."
So it was a woman who had telegraphed! Somehow she had assumed unquestioningly that it was a man. "If you desire to see him——" Ah, yes, she might have known it! An aunt, who would be frigid and contemptuous, of course. Well, she deserved that, she would have no right to complain; nor was it to be expected that Lucas's family should show her much consideration, though she could not perceive that she had done them any injury.
Two hours passed before she had an interview with the lady. Mamie was in the room that she had engaged in the meanwhile. She had bathed her face, and was making ready to return to the sick-room, when she was told that Mrs. Porteous was inquiring for her.
"Won't you come in?" she asked. "Our voices won't disturb him here."
Mrs. Porteous entered gingerly. She was a massive woman, of middle age, fashionably dressed. Her expression suggested no grief, only a vague fear of contamination. She had telegraphed to Paris because she felt that it was her duty to do so; but she had not telegraphed until it was almost certain that the patient would not rally sufficiently to make a will.