"Now, see here," said Stella. She spoke with a defiant hardness, the measure of her hatred for what she had to do. "There's one way you could help us out. She asked about you right away, and of course she thought we were—goin' together, same 's we had been."
Here her voice failed her, and he knew the swift color on her cheek was the miserable sign of her shame in such remembrance. It became his task to hearten her.
"Course," said he. "Anybody would."
"Well, I can't tell her. I ain't even told mother yet, and I don't want to till she's on her feet again. And if aunt Hill gets the leastest wind of it she'll hound mother every minute, and mother'll give up, and—well, I just can't do it, that's all."
Jerry was advancing eagerly now, his lips parted for speech; but her task once begun was easier, and she continued:—
"Now, don't you see? I should think you could."
"Yes," said Jerry, in great hopefulness. "Course I do."
"No, you don't either. It's only, she's goin' to be here not quite a week, and it's only one Saturday night."
"Yes," said Jerry, "that's to-morrer night."
"Well, don't you see? If you don't come over, she'll wonder why, and mother'll wonder why, and mother'll ask me, and, oh, dear! dear!"