“Do you feel better now, dear?” asked Mabin rather tremulously.
For she had some doubts as to the scene which might be impending.
Mrs. Dale opened her eyes, but made no answer. She did not seem to hear Mabin; she seemed to be listening, trying to remember.
“Would you like a little water?” went on Mabin, rather frightened by the silence, and betraying her feelings in her tone and in the expression of her face. Then Mrs. Dale sat up, and the rather vacant look on her face grew into one of weary sadness.
“No, dear, thank you. I am not thirsty; and I—and I—am quite well.”
As she said this she rose, and glanced anxiously round the room. Then she looked at the door which communicated with the adjoining apartment, and suddenly sprang toward it.
“Don’t, don’t go in there!” cried Mabin, quickly, imploringly.
Mrs. Dale, with a deadly white face, stopped short, turned and looked at her.
“Why not?” she asked abruptly, in a whisper.
“Why, because—because—” stammered the girl, “it was in there you fainted. Don’t you remember?”