Adelaide Maud bent her head a trifle.
"You ought not to think of Miss Annie, at present," said she. "It isn't right. It isn't fair to her either, supposing you turn really ill, what would become of her?"
Neither noticed the lagging notes on the piano. Instead, in the earnestness of their conversation, they entirely forgot Elma.
Miss Grace shook her head.
"I can't help it," she said. "Whatever happens to me, I must stay by my bed-ridden sister. Who would look after her if I deserted her? What is my poor well-being compared to hers!"
The notes on the piano fell completely away. Elma sat with the tears raining down her face.
"Oh, Miss Grace," she said brokenly, "are you ill? Don't say you are ill."
The sky had fallen indeed, if such a thing could be true, as Miss Grace in a trouble of her own--and such a trouble--ill health--when Miss Annie required her so much.
Adelaide Maud looked greatly discouraged.
"Now, Elma," she exclaimed abruptly, "Miss Grace is only a little bit ill, and it's to keep her from getting worse that I'm talking to her. We didn't intend you to listen. Miss Annie will wonder why the piano has stopped. Be cheerful now and play a bit--something merrier than what you've been at."