Rosalie was called up on the telephone by the foreign friend. It was the evening, about ten o’clock. Doda was away for a week at Brighton with the foreign friend. She was due back to-morrow. Harry was out with Benji. Benji was nineteen then and was home on vacation from Oxford. Harry never could bear Benji out of his sight when Benji was home. In the affliction that had come upon them, he seemed to cling to Benji. Rosalie had persuaded him that evening to go with Benji to a concert. Harry said the idea of anything like that was detestable to him, but Rosalie had pleaded with him. Just a little chamber concert was different. It would do him so much good to have an evening away and to hear a little music and Benji would love it. Harry allowed himself to be persuaded and went off arm-in-arm with Benji. He always put his arm in Benji’s when he walked with Benji. Rosalie was waiting for them when the telephone bell rang and she was spoken to by the foreign friend. It then happened like this. The voice of the foreign friend was very alarmingly urgent. “Would she come and see Doda at once, at once, at once?” The voice struck a chill to the heart of Rosalie. “But where are you? You’re at Brighton, aren’t you? Are you speaking from Brighton?” “No, no. At my flat. At my flat.” “But what is it? What is it? Why don’t you tell me what it is?” “It’s an--it’s an--.” The voice stammered and hesitated. “Oh, speak! Oh, speak.” She could hear the voice gulping. “Oh, please do speak!” “Doda isn’t very well. Doda’s very ill. It’s an--it’s an accident.” “I’ll come. I’ll come.” “Is Mr. Occleve there?” “He isn’t. He’s out.” “Can you get him?” “No. Yes. I don’t know. I can’t think. Oh, tell me. Tell me.” “Will you leave a message for him to come at once?” “At once. At once.” She wrote a message for Harry and she picked up a wrap and she ran out hatless to find a cab. She found a cab and went to Doda. This all happened as quickly as bewilderingly. It was not like a dream, and it was not like a nightmare. It was like a kind of trance to Rosalie. The foreign friend was not seen at the flat. She was in some other room and did not appear. She said afterwards, and proved, that she had been away the previous night, leaving Doda at the flat, and had returned to find her--as she was found; and had immediately called the nearest doctor and then Doda’s mother. It was the doctor that opened the door to Rosalie. He was a Scotchman; a big and rugged man, all lines and whiskers and with a rugged accent. He said, “You’rre her mother, arren’t ye? Where’s her father?” “He’s coming. Where is my child?” The doctor jerked his head towards a wall. “She’s yon.” “Tell me, please.” He pushed a chair towards her but she shook her head. “Please tell me.” “Ye’ll want your courage.” He again indicated the chair. She again shook her head. “It’ll try ye. She’s dying.” The lips of Rosalie formed the words: “Tell me.” There was no sound in her.