A key scratched at the outer lock, and she sprang two-thirds from the bed, dragging the coverlet from its moorings.
"Jimmie, that you?"
"Sure, ma! 'Smatter?"
She relaxed as though her muscles had suddenly snapped, her tense toes and fingers uncurled, and the blood flowed back.
"I—Nothin', Jimmie; I was just wondering if that was you."
"No, ma; it ain't me—it's my valet coming home from a dance at his Pressing Club. You ain't sick, are you, ma?"
"No. What time is it, Jimmie? It's so dark."
"You been havin' one of your spells again, ma?"
"No, no, Jimmie."
"Didn't you promise to keep a light going?"