“Oh, Zay,” she cried, dropping on the side of the bed, “have you any idea what your father and Doctor Kendricks are quarreling about? Your father is not easily excited—he used to be very quick in temper but he has grown so gentle and considerate. But it is something that rouses him to white heat. We have always been such dear friends since that time of the great sorrow, and it is not about the boys, I know. Oh, Zay, what is the matter? You look ill—you must have a fever, your eyes show it.”
“The doctor called it a feverish cold. He is coming again this afternoon.” She was half listening to the tumult in the library, and she shook as if in an ague.
“Oh, there they go again. Why—they are going out,” and she went to the hall to call to her husband but the door was flung to as if in a passion. Then someone entered and ran lightly upstairs.
“Mother, Zay, what is the row about? Father looks as if he—but he never does drink and they are going to Mrs. Barrington’s.”
Zay buried her face in her hands and began to sob.
“Oh, mother, what is it? Has Vin met with some accident? And we were so happy yesterday! Do you remember the old story of the gods being jealous of the happiness of mortals? There was nothing to wish for.”
“I do not know what it is, but it has excited your father desperately and I am afraid Zay is going to be ill.”
“My dear Zay—I should not have kept you out so late last night. We called at the Norton’s and had a little dance. Don’t you need the doctor—”
“He was in. He is coming this afternoon. Oh, my head aches—”
“And you look fit to drop, mother. Let me call the nurse.”