One's own stupid self is so perverse! Of course I meant to thank him for his silent help the night before, but I asked with a rush of nervous confusion:—
"You—were you there?"
I could have suffered torture sooner than own that I had seen him.
"Were you there, Ned?" repeated Milly, blundering into the room. "Why, we didn't see you."
Of all vexatious interruptions! Behind her came John and most of the family.
"The servant of The Presence would fain know if The Presence is well," John said, coming quickly to my side and peering down at me with a dark, worn look upon his face, as if he hadn't slept, and a catch in his voice that irritated me, in spite of his playful words. I knew well enough that his anxiety had been on my account, but it was so unnecessary!
"The child bears up wonderfully," cried my Aunt, before I could answer; "but to-morrow'll tell the story; to-morrow she'll feel the strain."
Then they all broke out talking at once. John drew a big chair for me to the fire, and there was such an ado, adjusting lights and fending me with screens.
"You are well?" John asked, obstinately planting himself between me and the others.
"Perfectly. How absurd you are!"