"Coming, grandmother."
"Good night!" exclaimed Dr. Ballard with slangy intention.
The next moment, Katherine saw his agile figure disappear over the rim of the balustrade. She turned quickly to answer the imperative call, all the old miserable feelings returning in a rush.
"I want a drink of water."
If Martha Slawson had been in Katherine's place, the mother-heart in her would have understood that childish call at once. But the girl had no experience that would help her to interpret the meaning of it. She supplied the drink with as much promptness, and as little sentiment, as a nickel-in-the-slot machine.
Madam Crewe drained the glass thirstily.
"It's a warm night," she observed socially.
"Very warm."
"Queer the way my head acts," continued the lonely old woman, obviously making conversation to detain Katherine. "Sometimes it seems full of sounds, so I think I hear real voices speaking. A little while ago, I heard a man's laugh, as clear as could be. You weren't downstairs with a caller, were you?"
"I haven't been out of my room since supper-time, grandmother."