"He treated her to tea?" Elsie faintly repeated. She did not intend an espial upon Anthony; the question was born of pain and bewilderment.
"She ast him to. They went to a eatin' place an' I watched the truck. Tony, she called him." Mike ponderously straightened himself and prepared to depart. "I guess I'll get to work, ma'am."
Elsie nodded, and turning, crept back.
Adriance had appeared on the threshold of the cottage, his dog leaping about him in the daily disappointed, daily renewed hope of accompanying the worshipful master. He was whistling and fumbling in his pockets for a match, as he stood. But he was struck dumb and motionless by the change in the pale girl who turned from the gate. She seemed almost groping her way up the path.
"Elsie!" he called, springing down the steps. "Why, Elsie?"
To his utter dismay, she crumpled into his extended arms, her eyes shut.
He gathered her to him and swept her into the house, himself sick with absolute panic. Illness was so new to them; he did even know of a doctor nearer than the stately and important family physician in New York. He felt the world rock beneath his feet; his world, which held only his wife. Trembling, he laid her on their bed and knelt beside it, her head still on his arm.
"Elsie!" he choked, his eyes searching her face. "Girl!"
Perhaps it was the misery in his voice, perhaps the anguish of love with which he clasped her, but she moved in his arms.
"Yes," she whispered. "I—I shall be well, in a moment."