"Would you like me to help you arrange your toilet, ma'am?" she asked, still holding the door knob in her hand.
Her toilet! she had not thought of it, so deeply had she been engrossed in her thoughts. Yes, she must make every effort to look well, because the eyes of her rival would be upon her.
"Yes, you may help me if you will," she said, wistfully. And when she was dressed and standing before her mirror, she was so nervous she could hardly stand. The maid noticed her trembling.
"You are ill, my lady," she cried, in alarm; "your face has grown very pale. Do let me bring you a glass of wine!"
"No," replied her young mistress; "it is only a momentary pain. I will be better presently."
As the maid watched, Ida's face grew from deathly pale to a flushed appearance, and her hands were burning hot.
"I think I must go and see the housekeeper. I am sure Mrs. Mallard is not fit to receive guests. She is very ill," she said to herself.
"If you only felt as well as you looked, my lady," said the girl, aloud and admiringly.
"Do you think I look well, Marie?" she asked, with a pitiful eagerness in her voice.