She kissed the troubled face upturned to her, but would suffer no lingering over the good-night. She was in no haste to go herself, however. She did not mean to wait for Harry, but when two hours had passed, she was still sitting where Rose had left her, and then Harry came.
But oh! the misery of that home-coming. Graeme must have fallen asleep, she thought, for she heard nothing till the door opened, and then she heard Harry’s voice, thick and interrupted, thanking someone, and then stupidly insisting on refusing all further help.
“Never mind, gentlemen—I can manage—thank you.”
There were two persons with him, Charlie Millar was one of them.
“Hush, Harry. Be quiet, man. Are you mad? You will waken your sister.”
The light which someone held behind them, flushed for a moment on Graeme’s pale face.
“Oh! Miss Elliott,” said Charles, “I tried to keep him with me. He is mad, I think. Be quiet, Harry.”
Harry quite incapable of walking straight, struggled to free himself and staggered toward his sister.
“I knew you would sit up, Graeme—though I told you not—and so I came home.”
“Of course, you did right to come home. But hush, Harry! you will waken Will.”