"I am so sorry," she began, "Viola has told me——"
"How is she? May I not see her?"
"She scarcely slept last night."
Tristrem looked in the lady's face. The lids of her eyes were red and swollen.
"But may I not see her? May I not, merely for a moment."
"She is sleeping now," Mrs. Raritan answered; "perhaps," she added, "it is better that you should not. The doctor has been here. He says that she should be quiet. But you will come back, will you not? Truly I sympathize with you."
Mrs. Raritan's eyes filled with tears, but to what they were due, who shall say? She seemed to Tristrem unaccountably nervous and distressed.
"There is nothing serious the matter, is there?" he asked, anxiously. And at the question, Mrs. Raritan almost choked. She shook her head, however, but Tristrem was not assured. "I must see her," he said, and he made as would he mount the stair.
"Mr. Varick! she is asleep. She has had a wretched night. When you are able to come back, it will be different. But if you care for her, let her be."
The protest was almost incoherent. Mrs. Raritan appeared beside herself with anxiety.