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Patricia had known Geraldine Leighton in a very slight and casual way, but with the word "dying," she became the heroic center of her hurrying thoughts. She saw her in the dim room with Doris and the nurse and doctor, each agonizingly intent on the slow, faltering heart-beats and the fitful, irregular breathing. As her swift mind galloped on to the end, and the subdued sounds of grief caught her inner ear, another face began to print itself rapidly on that quick-moving scene—Doris, white and haggard, looked into her eyes, and she felt her whole heart go out to her. "Which, as we guessed, meant paralysis or catalepsy," said David. "But, as you see, poor Maurice is dead. Your prophecy was false." "True," said Jen; "and why should these wretches have murdered that man?".
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She swept Elinor off the stool, away from the crowded dressing room, and at last found a deserted corner behind a big cast. Doris hesitated, undergoing again that subtle change that Patricia had seen before. As the curtain was drawn from the long canvas Patricia's eyes were on the faces of those in whose impressions she was most interested, and they gave her great satisfaction. Mrs. Bingham's eyes were wide and startled as those of the small hen who discovers that her ungainly child is really a white swan. He bowed, and without offering his hand--which it is very probable Major Jen would have refused to take--he left the room. When the door closed the older man sank into a chair and passed his hand across a brow moist with perspiration..
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