"I've tried," she said, when her sister appeared in the doorway again, "but I can't, it chokes me."
She drank her tea greedily.
"I am so thirsty; I believe I've got a fever."
But Elizabeth was gone again, and Elsie stood staring at the paté—a magnificent affair, she knew it was—one of Maillard's best, full of truffles and all sorts of delicious things. She felt something in her throat, which might have been hunger or it might have been weakness; she chose to think it the latter.
"I feel so weak," she said, when Elizabeth returned on her round; "such a sinking here," and she put her hand in the region where her heart might be supposed to beat.
"You had better lie down," her sister said, absently.
That was not the advice Elsie wanted or expected, and she cried out, spasmodically:
"How can I keep still! Oh, I wish I had some drops, or something to take!"
She moaned so loudly that it disturbed Elizabeth, who became impatient.
"Drink your tea," she said, "and eat something; you cannot go without food."