Her only answer was another scream, her little fists opening and closing like a bird's talons gripping the white counterpane in her trembling fingers.
The man stood in helpless misery and sickening fear, bent low and whispered:
"Please, please, darling—it's all right—she can stay. I won't say another word. Don't make yourself ill. Please don't!"
The sobbing ceased for a moment, and he added:
"I'll go into the nursery and send her here to put you to bed."
He turned to the door and met Cleo entering.
"Miss Jean called me?" she asked with a curious smile playing about her greenish eyes.
"Yes. She wishes you to put her to bed."
The girl threw him a look of triumphant tenderness and he knew that she had heard and understood.