“Is that you, Eve?” cried a smothered voice from the pillows.
“Yes,” replied Eve; “I’d like very much to come in. May I?”
For answer, Daisy opened the door, but Eve stood quite still on the threshold.
“What’s the matter, Daisy, have you been crying?” she demanded. “Why, your eyelids are red and swollen, and your eyes glow like the stars. Has Gertie or Bess said anything cross to you?” she inquired, smoothing back the soft golden curls that clustered round the white brow.
“No,” said Daisy, choking down a hard sob; “only I am very unhappy, Eve, and I feel just––just as if every one in the world hated me.”
“How long have you been up here in your room?” asked 116 Eve, suspiciously, fearing Daisy had by chance overheard the late conversation down-stairs.
“Quite an hour,” answered Daisy, truthfully.
“Then you did not hear what I was talking about down-stairs, did you?” she inquired, anxiously.
“No,” said Daisy, “you were playing over a new waltz when I came upstairs.”
“Oh,” said Eve, breathing freer, thinking to herself, “She has not heard what we said. I am thankful for that.”