“No,” said Andrew, faintly. There was a slight twitching in his hand, as if he wished to put it on her head, then it lay thin and inert on the coverlid. He tried to smile, but his face settled into that look of utter acquiescence of fate.
“I s'pose it's the best you can do,” he muttered.
“Have you told Miss Lennox?” gasped Fanny.
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She was sorry, but she made no objection,” replied Ellen, evasively.
Fanny came forward abruptly, caught up the camphor-bottle, and began bathing Andrew's forehead again.
“We won't say any more about it,” said she, in a harsh voice. “You'd better go over to your grandma Brewster's and see if she has got any whiskey. I think your father needs to take something.”
“I don't want anything,” said Andrew, feebly.
“Yes, you do, too, you are as white as a sheet. Go over and ask her, Ellen.”