The nurse came in, and told me that Mrs. Barslow wished to see me in the library. I went down, and found Josie and Alice together.
“I got a letter from—from Mr. Cornish,” said she, “telling me that he was returning from Chicago to-night, and was coming to see me. I ran over, because—and told mamma to say that I couldn’t see him.”
“See him by all means,” said I with some bitterness. “You should make it a point to see him. Mr. Cornish is a success. He alone of us all has shown real greatness.”
And it dawned upon me, as I said it, what Jim had meant by his reference to the gopher which learns to stick its head up “outside the snare.”
“I want to ask you,” said Josie, “is it all true—what was in the paper to-night about all of you, Mr. Hinckley and yourself, and—all of you having failed?”
“It is only a part of the truth,” I replied. “We are ruined absolutely.”
She said nothing by way of condolence, and uttered no expressions of regret or sympathy. She was apparently in a state of suppressed excitement, and started at sounds and movements.
“Is Mr. Elkins very ill?” said she at length.
“So ill,” said Alice, “that unless he rallies soon, we shall look for the worst.”
No more at this than at the other ill news did Josie express any regret or concern. She sat with her fingers clasped together, gazing before her at the fire in the grate, as if making some deep and abstruse calculation. But when the door-bell rang, she started and listened attentively, as the servant went to the door, and then returned to us.