Elizabeth continued, as she moved towards the door, "I felt you ought to know that your sister is really ill. Men are slower to recognize the gravity of illness than women. That is all." And she passed out quickly, shutting the door behind her, before he could find another word to say.
Elizabeth was at her friend's bedside that afternoon when the doctor came. Miss Baring received him with less reluctance than Elizabeth expected. She left the room presently, but lay in wait on the stairs for him as he passed out.
"Mr. Baring is not in the house," she said, "but would like to hear your opinion of his sister's case more frankly, perhaps, than you would give it to her herself, and I have promised to report it to him."
"She requires very great care—and warmth. She should not pass the winter in Paris. I have told her so."
Elizabeth's countenance fell.
"But what is she to do? Her brother can't leave his work. Perhaps in a warmer apartment———?"
"I will see her again in a day or two. If my present view of her case is confirmed, no change of apartment would be of any avail. The air of Paris is too keen for any one in her state."
He bowed, and passed down the stairs. Elizabeth turned into the sick-room.
Miss Baring's head was buried in the pillow; ahe was sobbing. Emotion had always seemed so foreign to the American woman's nature, that Elizabeth was frightened.
"What is the matter, dear Hatty?" she asked quickly,
