“He has made a mistake, that is all,” replied Dorothy, with her usual alertness. “This girl has fainted—we must get her outside.”
The young woman picked up the limp form as if it was that of a baby. She laid Miette gently on the old sofa near the door.
“Telephone for a doctor, dad, quick,” she directed.
“If it’s only a faint,” the officer objected, “why can’t—”
“I said a doctor, and quick,” called the woman again. “Do you want to have a dead girl on your hands?”
This roused the man to a sense of duty. It was hard to call in Doctor Van Moren, under these circumstances, (the doctor happened to be mayor of the borough) but it would be better than having “a dead girl” in the station house.
Miette was stirring and Dorothy felt she would soon rally—but it would be well to have a doctor, he might help get them out of the place. Certainly Dorothy needed some help, and needed it badly.
Both Dorothy and the woman worked over Miette—one chafing her hands and the other dropping cold water between the pale lips.
Finally, while the officer was talking over the telephone, Miette opened her eyes.
Instantly she threw her arms around Dorothy.