"Maggie, Maggie!"
Her voice was clear and louder than her ordinary tones; she spoke as if trying to force some one to hear.
Maggie Dennison started, looked round, and passed her hand rapidly across her brow.
"Maggie, I—I've not done anything about going."
"Going?" echoed Maggie Dennison. But her mind was clearing now; her brain had been stunned, not killed, and her will drove it to wakefulness and work again. "Going? Oh, I hope not."
"You know, last night——" began Marjory, timidly, flushing, keeping behind Mrs. Dennison's chair. "Last night we—we talked about it, but I thought perhaps now——"
"Oh," interrupted Mrs. Dennison, "never mind last night. For goodness' sake, forget last night. I think we were both mad last night."
Marjory made no answer; and Mrs. Dennison, her hand having swept her brow once again, turned to her with awakened and alert eyes.
"You upset me—and then I upset you. And we both behaved like hysterical creatures. If I told you to go, I was silly; and if you said you wanted to go, you were silly too, Marjory. Of course, you must stop; and do forget that—nonsense—last night."
Her tone was eager and petulant, the colour was returning to her cheeks; she looked alive again.