"Why, Pauline, do you really think so?" asked he; and I could see that the alarm that had been half roused for some time was now thoroughly awake, and producing its effect.
"Yes, I do not see how she can recover—unless—"
"Unless what?"
"Unless you send for Lieutenant Marshall immediately."
"Don't you think Dr. Parkinson might do as well?" asked he.
"No," I answered, shortly, looking upon that question as most unkind trifling with mortal need.
Every one knows the effect that decided impulsive natures have on calm meditative ones. An act Mr. Percy had been trying to make up his mind to perform for some time, but had been putting off, in hopes that secondary measures might avail, he now consented to at once.
"I believe I shall have to do it," he said; "you may tell Virginia so."
My work was but half done. Mr. Percy was a most inveterate dawdle, to use Fanny Kemble's expressive word. If left to himself, the letter might be written in a week, but more probably would be put off for a month. If we lived in antediluvian times, this dilatory way of managing matters might be of little consequence, but life is too short now to afford the loss of even a few weeks' happiness.