Myra bent forward with her eyes dilated as if she were gazing at something across the room.
“Your poor hands are so cold and damp, and your forehead burning hot. O Myra, Myra! I did not think that two such terrible days could come in one poor girl’s life.”
“Edie,” said Myra in a husky whisper, “you saw Malcolm last night?”
“Yes, dear, of course.”
“You did not see anything strange in his manner?”
“No; only that he was half-mad with joy, and when he kissed me and said good-night—you remember?”
“Yes, yes.”
“He said he was the happiest man alive.”
“Yes; I remember the exact words.”
“And he hoped that soon—”