It was a dead weight that Neville bore into Stephanie's room. When his mother turned him out and closed the door behind him he stood stupidly about until his sister, who had gone into the room, opened the door and bade him telephone for Dr. Ogilvy.
"What has happened to her?" he asked, as though dazed.
"I don't know. I think you'd better tell Quinn to bring around the car and go for Dr. Ogilvy yourself."
It was a swift rush to Dartford through the night; bareheaded he bent forward beside the chauffeur, teeth set, every nerve tense and straining as though his very will power was driving the machine forward. Then there came a maddening slowing down through Dartford streets, a nerve-racking delay until Sam Ogilvy's giant brother had stowed away himself and his satchel in the tonneau; then slow speed to the town limits; a swift hurling forward into space that whirled blackly around them as the great acetylenes split the darkness and chaos roared in their ears.
Under the lighted windows the big doctor scrambled out and stamped upstairs; and Neville waited on the landing.
His father appeared below, looking up at him, and started to say something; but apparently changed his mind and went back into the living room, rattling his evening paper and coughing.
Cameron passed through the hallway, looked at him, but let him alone.
After a while the door opened and Lily came out.
"I'm not needed," she said; "your mother and Stephanie have taken charge."
"Is she going to be very ill?"