Dolly drew a long breath. "O if only Issy hadn't said anything!"
Margot could not truthfully say, "Issy meant nothing."
"I think I must lie down now," she remarked presently.
Dolly started up from her clinging posture. "Margot, is your back bad?"
"It has been bad all day." Margot seldom admitted so much, but she was anxious to lead Dolly's mind on a fresh tack. "Suppose you come and settle me on the couch in my room. And then—I wonder if you could read me a story, and help me to forget the aching."
"I'll do anything. I'm so sorry. It is all my fault."
An hour passed in attending to Margot did Dolly more good than any amount of brooding over her own woes. Margot really was in very bad pain—so severe, that when she had reached her room, she turned faint with it. She would not have Isabel called, however, but insisted that Dolly should do all that was requisite.
"Now I hear Issy coming, so you can go," Margot said at length. "Kiss me, Dolly, and take a run in the garden. Don't let yourself sit and think."
Dolly promised, then fled, and Isabel entered, remarking, "We did not know till just now that you had both come in. Margot, what made you go this afternoon?"
"I thought I ought."