"And does no one care for her but her husband?"
"Has she suffered for care—a woman's care, I mean?"
"Well, not exactly, and yet she might be more comfortable with a woman about her. Women are naturally better nurses than men, and Mr. Thornton is quite worn out, but it does not make much difference now; the lady—"
Daisy did not hear the last part of the sentence, and, bidding him good-night, she went back to the hotel as swiftly as she had left it, while the doctor stood watching the flutter of her white dress, wondering how she found it out, and if she would "tell and raise thunder generally."
"Of course not. I know her better than that," he said to himself. "Poor woman [referring then to Julia], nothing, I fear, can help her now."
Meanwhile Daisy reached the hotel, and without going to her own room, bade Sarah tell her the way to No. ——.
"What! Oh, Miss McDonald! You surely are not—" Sarah gasped, clutching at the dress, which her mistress took from her grasp, saying:
"Yes, I am going to see that lady. I know her, or of her, and I'm not afraid. Must we let her die alone?"
"But your face—your beautiful face," Sarah said, and then Daisy did hesitate a moment, and, glancing into a hall mirror, wondered how the face she saw there, and which she knew was beautiful, would look scarred and disfigured as she had seen faces in New York.