"Say I'm not well and am lying down."
In the hall below, the parlormaid Annie encountered Mrs. Heth, waked from her nap by the two rings at the bell. Mrs. Heth ascended to Carlisle's room and rattled the knob.
"Cally?... Why, your door's locked!"
The door opened, and Carlisle confronted her mother with a white tremulous face.
"What's the matter?" said Mrs. Heth, gliding in with an expression of maternal solicitude. "Annie said you weren't well and were lying down."
"I'm not well ... Mamma, let's go to New York to-morrow."
"Go to-morrow!... Why, what's the matter?"
"Nothing. Only I--I'm so tired of being at home."
Then her strained stiffness broke abruptly, and she flung her arms around her mother's neck with an hysterical abandon by no means characteristic.
"Oh, I can't stand it here another day. I can't! Please, please, mamma! It must be not having Hugo. I can't explain--it's just the way I feel. I'm so miserable here, I could die. Please, mamma!..."