Rosaleen stood where she had fallen against the hat rack, while the maid
stared at her. She couldn’t speak or move; it came across her mind that
perhaps she was dying....
“You better sit down!” said the girl, moved by compassion. “You look
sick!”
Rosaleen sank into a carved chair with an enormously high back; and the
maid, on her way upstairs to fetch Mr. Landry, looked back and saw her
there, erect, her feet modestly crossed, her trembling hands resting on
the arms.
But when Nick came rushing down, she had gone.