Again the girl wept wildly. But now Miss Pritchard's arm was enfolding her.
"No, precious child, you haven't lost it. And if you were sorry—but we won't talk more about it now. I'll hold that in my heart as comfort until to-morrow and then we'll see what we can do to straighten it all out. At this moment we must consider that there's the evening performance to go through, and being the last, it will be very taxing. Somehow, we'll make things right, among us all. You go to your room now and lie down. If you think of this, only say to yourself that it's over, and be thankful for that. And we two women who love you so that we're all but jealous of one another already will plan the next—or rather, the first move. Come, child."
At the door Elsie turned. "Is the other Elsie all right, auntie?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes, dear," returned Mrs. Moss rather doubtfully. "At least—well, as a matter of fact the poor child is just—waiting. I made her promise not to say a word to the Middletons until I came on here and returned. I am afraid—dear me, I am sure I don't know what I said to the girl. I am afraid I must have been rather hard on her."
"Oh, auntie! And it wasn't her fault in the least! I just dragged her into it. It was all for me. And she's the sweetest, gentlest thing! And not the least little bit her fault! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
The girl wrung her hands in genuine distress. Mrs. Moss shook her head mournfully.
"I might have known," she acknowledged regretfully. "But, oh, Miss Pritchard, I was nearly distracted. It all came upon me so suddenly—not a whisper of warning."
Miss Pritchard could understand what that meant. She led Elsie into her room and established her upon the bed. Elsie talked incoherently and at random, until Miss Pritchard had to declare that she must go back to Mrs. Moss. Kissing the girl again, she bade her forget everything for the time being and rest. And though she stifled the deep sigh that rose involuntarily, Miss Pritchard felt as if she was staggering as she left the room.