But Elizabeth only continued her incessant march up and down the floor, and Elsie was forced to quiet herself.
She rose from the sofa at last, stood by the window a few moments, but some magnetism drew her near the luncheon-tray again. She took up a spoon and tasted the apricot jelly.
"I want things to look as if we had eaten something," she said, giving Elizabeth a wistful glance from under her wet eyelashes.
"You had better try and eat," said her sister.
"One ought, I suppose," observed Elsie. "I think I will drink a cup of tea—won't you have some?"
Elizabeth shook her head, and with renewed sighs Elsie poured herself out a cup of tea and sat down at the table.
"Oh, this wretched day! I'd rather be dead and buried! Oh, oh!"
In an absurd, stealthy way, she thrust her spoon into the apricot jelly again, and stifled her moans for a second with the translucent compound.
"I wish I could eat; but I can't!"
She put a fragment of chicken on her plate, made a strong effort and actually succeeded in eating it, while Elizabeth was walking through the other rooms.