“Topping,” said Vic. “What a brick she is! Dr. Meredith didn't know where to turn for a nurse. The hospital is full. Every nurse is engaged. So much sickness, you know, in town. Ah, here she is. You are a lightning-change artist, Adrien.”
“How is Annette, Vic? Is she still living?” asked Patricia.
“I don't know,” replied Vic, wondering at the change in the girl before him.
“Darling,” said Adrien, “I will let you know at once. I hate to leave you.”
“Leave me!” cried Patricia. “Nonsense, Adrien, I shall be quite all right. Only,” she added, clasping her hands, “let me know when you can.”
When the ambulance arrived at the Maitland home, Adrien was at the door. All was in readiness—hot water, bandages, and everything needful to the doctor's hand.
McNish carried Annette up to the room prepared for her, laid her down and stood in dumb grief looking down upon her.
Adrien touched him on the arm.
“Come,” she said. And, taking his arm, led him downstairs. “Stay here,” she said. “I will bring you word as soon as possible.”
An hour later she returned, and found him sitting in the exact position in which she had left him. He apparently had not moved hand or foot. At her entrance he looked up, eager, voiceless.