“What a fool I am,” she said, as though angry at herself. “I can’t get back what I have thrown away, so I must think no more of Scott. I don’t intend to do much coaxing with Max either. If he is making love to some little fairy, as he calls her, I will follow him and find out who she is, and it will be a dear job for both of them. Curse him, what has he done; brought me out here, perhaps to die alone? Oh, I’ll curse them both if I find him playing false to me.”
She half arose from the couch, then sank back suddenly.
“Oh, oh, that pain in my side is awful. I wish Max would go for the doctor; but I wouldn’t dare to ask him, for he would only laugh at me, and he wouldn’t go.”
Irene drew a shawl about her shoulders and tried to sleep, but no sleep came to her until the morning dawned, then she sank into a light slumber.
“Why, how pale you look, Miss Wilmer,” said Mary, touching her arm, “are you ill?”
“I coughed so hard all night that I am nearly dead.”
“I should think you was quite dead by the color of you. You had better get up and have a cup of coffee, or shall I bring it to you?”
“No. I would rather get up. Where is Max?”
“Asleep. He don’t want to get up yet; guess he’s cross by the way he ordered me to leave.”