"I know you'll make Dora well, won't you?" she said at least twenty times a day; and twenty times a day Mrs. Hauksbee answered valiantly: "Of course I will".
But Dora did not improve, and the Doctor seemed to be always in the house.
"There's some danger of the thing taking a had turn," he said, "I'll come over between three and four in the morning to-morrow."
"Good gracious!" said Mrs. Hauksbee, "He never told me what the turn would be! My education has been horribly neglected: and I have only this foolish mother-woman to fall back upon."
The night wore through slowly, and Mrs. Hauksbee dosed in a chair by the fire. There was a dance at Viceregal Lodge, and she dreamed of it till she was aware of Mrs. Bent's anxious eyes staring into her own.
"Wake up! Wake up! Do something!" cried Mrs. Bent piteously. "Dora's choking to death! Do you mean to let her die?"
Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent over the bed. The child was fighting for breath, while the mother wrung her hands in despair.
"Oh, what can I do! What can you do! She won't stay still! I can't hold her. Why didn't the doctor say this was coming?" screamed Mrs. Bent. "Won't you help me? She's dying!"
"I—I've never seen a child die before!" stammered Mrs. Hauksbee feebly, and then—let no one blame her weakness after the strain of long watching—she broke down, and covered her face with her hands. The ayahs on the threshold snored peacefully.
There was a rattle of 'rickshaw wheels below, the clash of an opening door, a heavy step on the stairs, and Mrs. Delville entered to find Mrs. Bent running round the room and screaming for the Doctor. Mrs. Hauksbee, her hands to her ears, and her face buried in the chintz of a chair, was quivering
