"About an hour ago he began to get restless."
"I'd better call Dr. Sayre."
"Not before seven o'clock, it wouldn't be any use. They won't wake him unless it's absolutely necessary. And this may not be anything serious—there's often a slight relapse. Don't worry, Mrs. Carlin. Yesterday was too good to last, that's all. We must expect ups and downs."
"But he's so weak...."
"Oh, I've seen them pull through, lots weaker than he is—he's got a good strong physique.... Now don't stand around, it's too cold. You better go and get dressed, if you want to be up."
With a shivering look at Laurence's dark face and half-open eyes, she went, dressed herself quickly, shook her long hair out of its braid and twisted it up roughly. She put on her bonnet and cloak. Then she started downstairs, careful to make no noise. She intended to get the doctor. The gas-light in the hall was burning, turned down to a point of light. As she fumbled with the chain on the door, Nora came into the hall, wrapped in a pink dressing-gown, her hair flowing thick over her shoulders.
"What is it? I heard the nurse come down. Where are you going?"
"To get the doctor. Laurence is worse."
"Don't you go, this time of night—I'll go!"
"No," said Mary, slipping the chain.