“Thank you,” answered Barnes. “Hadn’t you both better be seated?”
Aunt Philomela obeyed humbly and took a chair near the window. Eleanor remained standing by her side.
Barnes thought the girl looked paler than when he had left. She seemed less sure of herself. The strain of the last few weeks had told upon her. He felt a strange lightness of the head as he noticed these things. The phrases he had formulated to say on the way down here all vanished and in their place came a dozen swift sentences which he had no right to utter. Consequently, he was dumb and the silence became embarrassing. Aunt Philomela broke the tension a little by exclaiming,
“I wouldn’t live through this last week again for a hundred million dollars.”
“Nor I,” answered Barnes, briefly.
Aunt Philomela glanced up quickly.
“How does Joe look?” she demanded.
“Not at all as I feared,” stammered the girl.
“Blood tells,” nodded Aunt Philomela with a trace of her old spirit.
The two women listened. Barnes himself half expected to hear at any second the warning tinkle of the silver bell. He roused himself.