“Kitty!”
But Kitty was gone. Terrified, the little girl ran through the hall. The first person she met was Mrs. Lovel, who, dressed gracefully in a soft black silk, trimmed with lace, was walking languidly in the direction of the great drawing-room.
“You had better come!” said Kitty, rushing up to her and seizing her hand. “Phil is very dreadfully ill. I think Phil will die. He’s in the armory. Come at once!”
Without waiting for the lady’s answer, little Kitty turned on her heel and flew back the way she had come. Phil had scarcely time to struggle to his feet, scarcely time to notice her absence, before she was back again at his side. Putting her arms around his neck, she covered his face with passionate kisses.
“Phil, Phil, I was so frightened about you! Are you better? Do say you are better. Oh, I love you so much, and I won’t be jealous, even if you have got a dearest friend!”
Phil could stand, but the sudden attack he had passed through was so sharp that words could scarcely come to his lips. Kitty’s embrace almost overpowered him, but he was so innately unselfish that he would not struggle to free himself, fearing to pain her.
His mother’s step was heard approaching. He made a great effort to stand upright and formed his little lips into a voiceless whistle.
“Why, Phil, you have been overtiring yourself,” said Mrs. Lovel. “Oh, Kitty, how you have exaggerated! Phil does not look at all bad. I suppose you were both romping, and never ceased until you lost your breath; or you were having one of your pretense games, and Phil thought he would frighten you by making out he was ill. Ah, Phil, Phil, what an actor you are! Now, my dear boy, I want you to come up to your bedroom with me. I want to consult you about one or two matters. Fancy, Kitty, a mother consulting her little boy! Ought not Phil to be proud? But he is really such a strong, brave little man that I cannot help leaning on him. It was really unkind of you to pretend that time, Phil, and to give little Kitty such a fright.”
Phil’s beautiful brown eyes were raised to his mother’s face; then they glanced at Kitty; then a smile—a very sorry smile Kitty considered it—filled them, and giving his little thin hand to his mother, he walked out of the armory by her side.
Kitty lingered for a moment in the room which her companion had deserted; then she dashed away across the brightly lit hall, through several cozy and cheery apartments, until she came to a room brilliant with firelight and lamplight, where Rachel lay at her ease in a deep arm-chair with a fairy story open on her knee.