"When I want a doctor, I'll call him myself. Good night."
"I'm sorry," said Lucinda simply.
With no choice other than to go, she went. But the vision she carried away, of Nelly Marquis glaring at her with eyes malevolent, her frail body vibrating so that it shook the bed, must have haunted Lucinda's conscience all evening long had she let the affair drop then and there.
Returning to her room, she telephoned the office and asked for the hotel physician. The clerk reported that the doctor was out, but promised to advise him of her call as soon as he came in.
Upwards of an hour later a knock ushered in a quiet young man with weary, understanding eyes, who attended gravely to what Lucinda had to tell him.
"She seems to have taken such an inexplicable dislike to me," Lucinda wound up, "I'm sure she won't see you if she knows you come through me. But the girl is really ill and needs help. So, I thought, perhaps you might find someone else in the hotel who knows her and could get her to consent to see you."
"I fancy I know her well enough myself to excuse a friendly call," the physician answered. "She's an old patient of mine, though she hasn't been in Hollywood for some time, I believe."
"Then you must know what's the matter with her...."
"Yes, I know.... But it would be unprofessional to tell you, of course, Miss Lee."
"Then tell me this much: that you can help her."