“Isn’t it awful to lie awake and think—and think, and not be able to do a single thing!” she said, with a tragic gesture.
Fanny bent down to look into Ellen’s pretty face.
“Why, Ellen,” she said, “is it as bad as that? I didn’t suppose you really cared.”
She clasped Ellen’s slender waist closer and kissed her fervently.
Ellen coaxed two shining tears into sparkling prominence on her long lashes.
“Oh, don’t mind me, Fan,” she murmured; “but I can sympathize with you, dear. I know exactly how you feel—and to think it’s the same girl!”
Ellen giggled light-heartedly:
“Anyway, she can’t marry both of them,” she finished.
Fanny was looking away through the boles of the gnarled old trees, her face grave and preoccupied.
“Perhaps I oughtn’t to have told you,” she said.