Daisy was very ill indeed—quite delirious. She talked incessantly of Fly-away, of the medicine glass and the laudanum bottle. She also talked of the dark lantern. She chattered unceasingly. Her little white face looked whiter and more pinched each moment; her small eyes more dazzlingly bright, and as the day advanced to its close, her wild mutterings became incoherent. Dr. Halsted was seriously alarmed about her, and two nurses were appointed to take charge of the sick girl.
Towards evening there came a short and refreshing telegram from Maureen O'Brien to Mrs. Faithful: "Expect me the morning after next.—Maureen O'Brien."
"Little dear—oh, how welcome she will be," thought the harassed mistress.
She got everything in readiness for the girl. She sent for Henrietta and told her the good news.
"What! That brat coming here," said Henrietta. "I'm sure I don't want her. It was because of herself, no less, that all this trouble came."
"Henrietta," said Mrs. Faithful, "do you mean deliberately to go on with your wicked ways?"
"Oh yes, I quite mean to," said Henrietta.
"Are you aware that your sister is dangerously ill?"
Henrietta stared for a minute.
"I like my hair fuzzy-wuzzy," she said, and she rumpled it up with both her hands, then stood with her arms akimbo, looking hard at Jane Faithful. "I have the promise of becoming a handsome woman, haven't I?" she continued.