“Do you think he’ll come over?”
“Of course—to make sure you are all right.”
She got Della into bed finally, diverting her momentarily by pressing upon her her most elaborate nightgown and negligee. Della cast a fleeting, discouraged glance at herself in the glass and slid between the covers, too worn out to resist longer.
“Of course I shan’t be able to sleep,” she said, “so if Walter comes over, he might come up for just a moment.”
Cecily nodded and turned the light low. Then, from the safe distance of the kitchen extension telephone, she telephoned Walter and half an hour later let him in.
“You say she’s gone to bed?”
“Quite worn out. But she wanted to see you.”
“Is she still hysterical?”
“No; she’s calmer.”
Walter’s boyish face had grave lines of anxiety traced on it. He paced up and down the room for a minute, then turned to Cecily.