“Then you'll have to wait your turn, sir,” he said, shaking his head and looking at Virginia. And he added. “It's slow work waiting your turn, there's so many governors and generals and senators, although the session's over. It's a busy time, miss.”
Virginia went very close to him.
“Oh, can't you do something?” she said. And added, with an inspiration, “I must see him. It's a matter of life and death.”
She saw instantly, with a woman's instinct, that these words had had their effect. The old man glanced at her again, as if demurring.
“You're sure, miss, it's life and death?” he said.
“Oh, why should I say so if it were not?” she cried.
“The orders are very strict,” he said. “But the President told me to give precedence to cases when a life is in question. Just you wait a minute, miss, until Governor Doddridge comes out, and I'll see what I can do for you. Give me your name, please, miss.”
She remained standing where she was. In a little while the heavy door opened, and a portly, rubicund man came out with a smile on his face. He broke into a laugh, when halfway across the room, as if the memory of what he had heard were too much for his gravity. The doorkeeper slipped into the room, and there was a silent, anxious interval. Then he came out again.
“The President will see you, miss.”
Captain Lige started forward with her, but she restrained him.