"Well, if you can do the proper thing and look nice at the same time—" She broke off and fidgeted. "I don't mind his dying if he does it far away, but, oh, wouldn't it be horrible if he did it here? Ill people make me sick."
"Why don't you go and do something yourself? Go and amuse Uncle Alfred."
"No, he's not nice in the mornings. He said so, and I've peeped at him. Liverish."
"Order the chickens, then, but ask Notya first."
"Where is she?"
Together they peeped over the banisters and listened.
"You'd better ask," Miriam said. "I wonder where she is. Call her," she added, daring Helen to break one of the rules of that quiet house; and Helen, who had discovered the truth that day, lifted her voice clearly.
"If she's not cross," Miriam whispered, "we'll know she's worried."
"Oh," Helen said soberly, "how horrid of us! I wish I hadn't."
Miriam's elbow was in her side. "Here she comes, look!"