The first dinner bell rang without her taking any notice of it, and the second was just about to sound, when there came a low tap at her bedroom door. At first she did not reply, but when it was repeated, though rather timidly, she called out,
“Who is it? I am ill. I don’t want any dinner! I cannot come down!”
A low voice answered.
“It is I, dear Miss Brandt, Bobby! May I come in? Mamma has sent me to you with a message!”
“Very well! You can enter, but I have a terrible headache!” said Harriet.
The door opened softly, and the tall lanky form of Bobby Bates crept silently into the room. He held a small bunch of pink roses in his hand, and he advanced to the bedside and laid them without a word on the pillow beside her hot, inflamed cheek. They felt deliciously cool and refreshing. Harriet turned her face towards them, and in doing so, met the anxious, perturbed eyes of Bobby.
“Well!” she said smiling faintly, “and what is your Mamma’s message?”
“She wishes to know if you are coming down to dinner. It is nearly ready!”
“No! no! I cannot! I am not hungry, and my eyes are painful,” replied Harriet, turning her face slightly away.
The lad rose and drew down the blind of her window, through which the setting sun was casting a stream of light, and then captured a flacon of eau de Cologne from her toilet-table, and brought it to her in his hand.