Weighted down by a sense of increasing numbness he lifted his agonized eyes to Jean. "Stay with me—stay—"
Hilda, waked by the day nurse, raged. "You should have called me at once when he left his room. Why didn't you call me?"
"Because I felt myself competent to manage the case."
"You see how you have managed it—I will be down in a minute. Get everybody out—"
Her composed manner when she came down showed nothing of that which was seething within her.
She found Jean in bridal-white sitting by the bed and holding the General's hand. The doctor had been sent for, Derry had been sent for—things were being swept out of her hands. She blamed it, still hiding her anger under a quiet manner, on Jean.
"He has had a stroke. It was probably the excitement of your coming."
The day nurse intervened. "It was before she came, Miss Merritt, that I saw him reach for the rug. I was puzzled and started to investigate, and then I saw her on the stairs—" She smiled at Jean. Never in her limited young life had the day nurse seen such a lovely bride, and she did not in the least like Miss Merritt.
Derry coming a little later held Jean's hand in his while he faced Hilda. "What does the doctor say?"
The truth came reluctantly. "He may be unconscious for days. He may never wake up—"