The moonlight streamed across the floor and the figure on the bed turned. "Is that you, Kathleen?" asked the prostrate one, through her nose.
"Yes, how are you feeling, dear? Can I do anything for you?"
"Why, yes, Kathleen. If you've had enough of the piazza, you might light the lamp and read to me a little while."
The simple request magnified itself to a disaster. Kathleen frowned, not at her mother, but at herself. Was this all the progress she had made?
"Shall I leave Phil alone?" she asked quietly.
Mrs. Fabian revived. "I thought he was over at the Wrights."
"He was; but he just came home. Violet had a headache, too."
"Where is Edgar?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, then, stay with him. It's too bad for a headache in every house to spoil his evening. I wonder if I couldn't get down to the piazza. Perhaps I'd feel better in the fresh air."