The hands of the little alarm-clock pointed to two as she crossed and knelt at the side of the sleeping man. She leaned over and kissed his forehead—his lips—and whispered softly into his ear.
"Bill—Bill, dear."
She blushed at the sound of the word, and glanced hurriedly about the room, but there was no one to hear, and the man slept on undisturbed by the tiny whisper. She laid a hand upon his shoulder and shook him gently.
"Bill—wake up!" He stirred slightly, and a sigh escaped him.
"Come, wake up, dear, you must eat."
This time she did not blush at the word, and the shaking became more vigorous. Carmody moved uneasily, grunted, and opened his eyes. Ethel started at the steady gaze of the grey eyes so close to her own. The grey eyes closed and he passed a hand slowly across them.
"A dream," he muttered, and the girl leaned closer.
"No, Bill," she whispered, "it is not a dream. I am here—Ethel—don't you know me?"
"Ethel," he repeated, and the name seemed to linger on his lips. "We must get back to her, kid, she is worrying—come—mush, kid—mush!" The girl laid a soft hand on his forehead and smoothed back the tangled hair.
"Bill, dear," she whispered, with her lips close to his, "Charlie is safe. And you are safe, here in the office—with me."