“What—what is the matter?” she asked, like one waking from a strange dream.
“Nothing, dear,” answered Dorothy. “But I guess you had some night vision,” and she placed the candle, still lighted, on the dresser.
“Did I call? Did I have the nightmare? Why are you not in bed?”
“I got up to see if you were all right,” answered Dorothy truthfully. “Do you want anything? Shall I get you a nice cool drink from the ice tank?”
Tavia was rubbing her face.
“What’s this on my cheeks?” she asked, bringing down her hand, smeared with cold cream.
“I thought you were feverish,” said Dorothy, “and I put a little cream on your face—cold cream might be better than nothing, I thought, as we had no alcohol.”
Tavia did not seem her natural self, and Dorothy, not slow to note the change in her, was only waiting to see her companion more fully awake, and so out of danger of being shocked suddenly, before calling for help, or, at least, for some medicine.
“My head aches awfully,” said the girl on the bed. “I would like a drink of water—if—if it is not too much trouble.”
A call bell was just at the door and Dorothy touched the gong as she went out into the hall to get the water.