“Come right in here, doctor, won’t you?  I want to hear about this myself.”

“Very well, sir.”  And Lake entered the room, with Edith close behind him.  He took no notice of anyone else.  “Write this down,” he said to her.  “And give it to the nurse when she comes.”  A heavy man of middle age, with curious dark impassive eyes that at times showed an ironic light, Lake was a despot in a world of mothers to whom his word was law.  He was busy to-night, with no time to waste, and his low harsh voice now rattled out orders which Edith wrote down in feverish haste—­an hourly schedule, night and day.  He named a long list of things needed at once.  “Night nurse will be here in an hour,” he ended.  “Day nurse, to-morrow, eight a.m.  Get sleep yourself and plenty of it.  As it is you’re not fit to take care of a cat.”  Abruptly he turned and left the room.  Edith followed.  The street door closed, and in a moment after that his motor was off with a muffled roar.  Edith came back, picked up her directions and turned to her sister: 

“Will you go up and sit with Bruce?  I’ll telephone the druggist,” she said.

Deborah went to the sick room.  Bruce’s small face, peaked and gray in the soft dim light, turned as she entered and came to the bed.

“Well, dear?” she whispered.  The small boy’s eyes, large and heavy with fever, looked straight into hers.

“Sick,” said the baby hoarsely.  The next instant he tossed up his hands and went through a spasm, trying to breathe.  It passed, he relaxed a little, and again stared solemnly at his aunt.  “Sick,” he repeated.  “Wery sick.”

Deborah sat silent.  The child had another fight for his breath; and this time as he did so, Deborah’s body contracted, too.  A few moments later Edith came in.  Deborah returned downstairs, and for over an hour she sat by herself.  Roger was in his study, Betsy and George had gone to bed.  The night nurse arrived and was taken upstairs.  Still Deborah’s mind felt numb and cold.  Instinctively again and again it kept groping toward one point:  “If I had a baby as sick as that, what would I do?  What would I do?”

When the doorbell rang again, she frowned, rose quickly and went to the door.  It was Allan.

“Allan—­come in here, will you?” she said, and he followed her into the living room.

“What is it?” he inquired.

“Bruce is worse.”

“Oh—­I’m sorry.  Why didn’t Edith let me know?”

“She had Lake to-night,” said Deborah.  He knitted his brows in annoyance, then smiled.

“Well, I don’t mind that,” he replied.  “I’m rather glad.  She’ll feel easier now.  What did he tell her?”

“He seemed to consider it serious—­by the number of things he ordered.”

“Two nurses, of course—­”

“Yes, day and night.”  Deborah was silent a moment.

“I may be wrong,” she continued, “but I still feel sure the child will live.  But I know it means a long hard fight.  The expense of it all will be heavy.”