"Yes," said Miss Ruth, "he is very ill, but the fact of his couch being in the library does not alter it. If anything sad should be going to happen,—it would be different, then."
"Of course," assented Miss Deborah.
"You see," Miss Ruth explained, "if we saw him, and then he got well, it would be very awkward."
"True," said Miss Deborah. "And certainly single women cannot be too delicate in such matters. We will send the whips by Giff. Poor, poor William Denner! Let me see,—were you to be his partner on Saturday? Oh, no, I recollect: it was I,—it was my turn."
"I think not," Miss Ruth replied gently; "you played last week. I should have played with him this time."
"Not at all," said Miss Deborah firmly, "he was mine."
CHAPTER XX.
The suspense was very hard for Lois Howe to bear.
When Mrs. Dale drove her from the sick-room for air and exercise, she wandered restlessly about the rectory, or went to Mr. Denner's door to beg a word of encouragement from Mary, or take a momentary comfort from the messages he sent her that he was better, and he begged she would not allow herself the slightest discomfort; it was really of no consequence,—no consequence at all.