“You didn’t sit up all night!” he exclaimed anxiously.
“No; I laid down. I slept very well.”
“But you shouldn’t have done that,” he said with a touch of exasperation. “You’ve tired yourself all out.”
She shook her head.
“No; I’m not tired,” she answered. “Tell me about Phillip, please.”
“Yes; but let us get out of here; it’s beastly cold.” He took her bag and led the way to the elevator. “Phil is very ill, Miss Ryerson,” he continued, “but there is no cause for alarm. That was the doctor’s verdict last night. When we reach the cab I will tell you more.
“To the Lenox,” he said to the cabman. “We’re going to have breakfast before we go out,” he explained as the door slammed behind him. “Are you warm enough?” He drew the rug about her and looked at her anxiously. Her face was very pale and there were dark shadows under her eyes. But she smiled and nodded in reply.
“And now about Phil, please, Mr. North,” she said.
“As the telegram told you,” John answered, “Phil’s got pneumonia. As near as I can make out, he got wet through last Wednesday night and caught cold. It seems he wanted to get tickets for Irving and stood up in line all night at the theatre. It rained, and he didn’t have any protection, and—well, the natural thing happened, I guess. He went to bed Thursday evening and he’s been there ever since. The trouble declared itself Saturday, and we telegraphed at once.”
“We didn’t get it until yesterday afternoon,” said Margaret. “Of course, mamma couldn’t come, and so——”