Some time later—I don't know how much later it may have been—I heard someone calling me again.
“Hosy!” called Hephzy in a loud whisper; “Hosy, where are you?”
“Here I am,” I answered.
She came to me across the lawn. I could not, of course, see her face, but her tone was very anxious.
“Hosy,” she whispered, putting her hand on my arm, “what are you doin' out here all alone?”
I laughed. “I'm taking the air,” I answered. “It is good for me. I am enjoying the glorious English air old Doctor Bayliss is always talking about. Fresh air and exercise—those will cure anything, so he says. Perhaps they will cure me. God knows I need curing.”
“Sshh! shh, Hosy! Don't talk that way. I don't like to hear you. Out here bareheaded and in all this damp! You'll get your death.”
“Will I? Well, that will be a complete cure, then.”
“Hush! I tell you. Come in the house with me. I want to talk to you. Come!”
Still holding my arm she led me toward the house. I hung back.