"It's the old pain. It won't last but a minute."
"What does papa say?" she asked, when he was easier again.
"Nothing, except that it's a strain and that I must keep quiet."
"How long?"
"That's the worst of it." There was an utter dreariness in his tone which Theodora had never heard before. "I didn't mean you to know; but I was going to surprise you all by walking over to your house, Thanksgiving morning, and now—" he hesitated, and, boy as he was and a plucky boy, too, two great tears came and splashed down on Theodora's fingers; "now he says it will be two or three weeks before I can even sit up again."
That night, when Theodora rose to go home, she turned back to the lounge once more, after she had said good-by to Mrs. Farrington.
"You must come in, every day," Mrs. Farrington said. "Will is better already for your being here."
Theodora herself saw the change, as she bent down to shake hands. He looked brighter and better than when she had come, more animated and eager, more like his old self.
"Billy," she said steadily; "I want you to promise me something."
"What's that?"