Selma rose. "Wait until I can get out of the way," she cried.
"Sit down, and sit still," commanded Victor.
Selma continued to move toward the door. "No—I don't wish to see her," she said.
Victor chagrined her by acquiescing without another word. "You'll look in after supper?" he asked.
"If you want me," said the girl.
"Come back here," said Victor. "Wait, Mrs. Colman." When Selma was standing by the bed he took her hand. "Selma," he said, "don't let these things upset you. Believe me, I'm right. Can't you trust me?"
Selma had the look of a wild creature detained against its will. "I'm not worried about the party—and the paper," she burst out. "I'm worried about you."
"But I'm all right. Can't you see I'm almost well?"
Selma drew her hand away. "I'll be back about half-past seven," she said, and bolted from the room.
Victor's good-natured, merry smile followed her to the door. When the sound of her retreat by way of the rear of the house was dying away he said to Mrs. Colman: