"All right. I'll concede the motors as your share. Now, what will you give me for a reward for being so docile?"
She watched him down the path with a heart overflowing with happiness. Twice he turned back to wave his hand to her, then disappeared, whistling into the darkness. She knelt beside her bed for a long time that night, and finally fell into a deep, quiet sleep, her hand clasping the little star that hung about her throat.
Three hours later she was abruptly awakened, and sat up, confused and startled, to find Austin leaning over her, shaking her gently, and calling her name in a low, troubled voice.
"What is it? What has happened?" she murmured drowsily, reaching instinctively for the dressing-gown which lay at the foot of the bed. Austin had already begun to wrap it around her.
"Forgive me, sweetheart, for disturbing you—and for coming in like this. I tried the telephone, and called you over and over again outside your window—you must have been awfully sound asleep. I was at my wits' end, and couldn't think of anything to do but this—are you very angry with me?"
"No, no—why did you need me?"
"Oh, Sylvia, it's Edith! She's terribly sick, and she keeps begging for you so that I just had to come and get you! She was all right at supper-time—it's so sudden and violent that—"
Sylvia had slipped out of bed as if hardly conscious that he was beside her. "Go out on the porch and wait for me," she commanded breathlessly; "you've got the motor, haven't you? I won't be but a minute."
She was, indeed, scarcely longer than that. They were almost instantly speeding down the road together, while she asked, "Have you sent for the doctor?"
"Yes, but there isn't any there yet. Dr. Wells was off on a confinement case, and we've had to telephone to Wallacetown—she was perfectly determined not to have one, anyway. Oh, Sylvia, what can it be? And why should she want you so?"