Freida gently impelled Mrs. Crawford to her own room and laid her on the lounge, making passes over her brow and chafing her cold hands.
“Now, lie still and get tranquil, and I will see to the young lady.”
“I would like to put you in a hot bath with plenty of salt, and then give you a good rub. Why, you have gone all to pieces, as you Americans say.”
Zaidee made no demur. Willard went and read aloud to his mother. The girl was bathed and rubbed and rolled in a blanket. She felt real drowsy, but the thought haunted her—what if Louie Howe had been taken ill with scarlet fever and they had sent word to Mrs. Barrington? Then Louie must have confessed and the three would be implicated. No wonder her father was angry!
She tossed around for awhile but, in spite, of her mental excitement she fell asleep. The luncheon hour passed; no one wanted to eat. Then Major Crawford let himself in with his latchkey. He was very pale now.
“Oh, is there bad news?” asked Willard.
“It depends on—how your mother takes it. Such a strange story—I can hardly credit it myself. Do not let us be interrupted unless I have to summon someone,” and he passed on his way upstairs.