They chatted a few moments longer, then Ilse promised to call her if necessary, and said good-night.
A little after midnight Palla’s telephone rang beside 306 her bed and she started upright with a pang of fear and groped for the instrument.
“Jack is seriously ill,” came the level voice of Ilse. “We have taken him to the Memorial Hospital in one of their ambulances.”
“W––what is it?” asked Palla.
“They say it is pneumonia.”
“Oh, Ilse!–––”
“I’m not afraid. Jack is in magnificent physical condition. He is too splendid not to win the fight.... And I shall be with him.... I shall not let him lose.”
“Tell me what I can do, darling!”
“Nothing––except love us both.”
“I do––I do indeed–––”