Her first impulse had been to spring to her feet, and inform her that she had accidently overheard her conversation with Frank Garrick, and upbraid her for it in the bitterest of words. Then the thought occurred to her that discretion was the better part of valor—to say nothing, and leave the house quietly in the morning.
"But I insist upon your drinking the lemonade," declared the young widow.
Ida looked at her steadily, and something in the reproachful glance of the girl's eyes made her wince. The hand that held the glass shook in spite of her efforts at composure.
"It will induce an excellent night's sleep, my dear," said Mrs. Cole, smoothly. "Stir it up; you are letting all the sugar settle at the bottom."
"I do not care for it," repeated Ida, a trifle more haughtily.
"But as it is for your good, you must drink it!" repeated her companion. "I shall not leave the room until you do so."
At that moment Katie, the little maid of all work, entered the room with towels.
Passing near the back of her chair, she managed to whisper in her ear, unobserved by Mrs. Cole:
"Promise her to drink the lemonade if she will leave it on the table; but don't touch a drop of it. I'll tell you why later."