“Me? Oh, you know nothing’s ever wrong with me!” She laughed in her buoyant young strength. “But you, auntie?” She grew serious. “You look very tired—and very, very worn and worried. But I suppose it’s the strain of father’s headache—poor father! How is he?”
“I—I think he’s feeling some better,” the old woman faltered. “He’s still lying down.”
They had entered the big, airy sitting-room. Katherine’s hat and coat went flying upon the couch.
“Now, before I so much as ask you a question, or tell you a thing, Aunt Rachel, I’m going up to see dear old father.”
She made for the stairway, but her aunt caught her arm in consternation.
“Wait, Katherine! Thee musn’t see him yet.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” Katherine asked in surprise.
“It—it would be better for him if thee didn’t disturb him.”
“But, auntie—you know no one can soothe him as I can when he has a headache!”