"Oh, please don't turn that up," begged the visitor. "I can't stand it! Dorothy, I feel as if I should die!"
Dorothy had felt that way herself a moment ago, but now there was someone else to look after; now she must not think of herself. How different it was with Viola! The ability to act is often a wonderful advantage. Viola made excellent use of her talent now.
"Dorothy," she began, "I have come to ask a great favor of you. And I do not know how to begin." She buried her face in her hands and left the other to draw out the interview as she might choose to. It was gaining time to lose it in that way.
"Is it about your mother?" asked the unsuspecting Dorothy.
"Yes, it is," wailed Viola. "It is really about her, although I am in it too."
"Is she worse?"
"Dreadfully bad"—and in this Viola did not deceive—. "I had a letter to-day—But Oh! Dorothy, promise you will help me!"
"I certainly will if I can!" declared Dorothy, warmly, quite anxious about Viola's grief.
"Oh, you can—and you are the only one who can! But how will I ask you?" and again Viola buried her white face in her equally white hands.
"Tell me what it is," said Dorothy, gently.