The women pressed their handkerchiefs to their eyes. There was something almost too real in the child's plea. Who was she? they asked. A professional?
Dorothy was delighted at Mary's success. The girl was her "find," and it was she who had taught her how to use her voice so well in the pathetic lines. True, she found an apt pupil in Mary, and Dorothy was but too glad to accord her the entire triumph, when the recitationist bowed again in response to the hearty applause and retired.
A gentleman in the audience left his chair, and, walking over, spoke to Mrs. White. He was Dr. Baker, one of the hospital staff.
"I think I know that child," he said. "Does she not live with an aged couple named Manning?"
"I believe she does," replied Mrs. White, making a place for Dr. Baker to sit down beside her. "My niece Dorothy is much interested in the child—she seems to have a faculty for discovering genius, has Dorothy."
"Well, I have not seen little Mary for some years, but there is no mistaking her. Her mother, an actress, died in one of the charity wards of the hospital, and I am afraid the child has inherited the fatal malady from her mother. She looks now like a consumptive."
Mrs. White was startled. Certainly Mary was delicate in appearance, but she had not thought of her as having a disease.
"There's no time to spare in her case," said the physician in a low voice. "Bring her to me as soon as you can."
"Dorothy did not expect to have a real case assisted so promptly," remarked Mrs. White. "It is rather out of the ordinary—a patient playing for her own benefit."
"I suspect that your pretty niece brought this child out with the sole purpose of making her happy," said Dr. Baker, "and she evidently has no idea how much real happiness she is destined to confer on her. Perhaps a month later it would have been too late to save her. Now I think we can, though there is a flush on her cheeks that I do not like."