The girl departed with the message, and Georgie had time in which to recover herself a little before Jack entered the room. She could not go then, whatever might be the import of his errand, she had decided before he came in; but she moved rapidly toward him, and asked:
“What is it, Jack? is Annie dead? Tell me quick,—the suspense is horrible!”
“No, not dead, but dying, and keeps asking for you. So I came, though sorely against my will, and I have sworn not to return without you. Will you go!”
There was a sharp ring in his voice which exasperated Georgie, but she put the feeling aside, and answered him:
“How can I go? You know it is impossible.” Then, as the realities of her position began to impress themselves more and more upon her, she wrung her hands in genuine distress, and cried: “Oh, why am I tortured so; I wish I had died years ago. What made you come here now, when you know I cannot go?”
She turned almost fiercely upon him, as if he had been in fault, but he met her eyes unflinchingly, and replied:
“I told you Annie was dying; that is why I came. I shall not go back without you.”
“Then you must wait,” she rejoined. “It is almost time for the guests to come; I must be here to receive them. Maybe she will revive. Doctors do not always judge aright. She may yet recover, or, at least, live for days.”
“I tell you she was dying when I left her, else I had not come, knowing you as I do,” Jack replied vehemently, and Georgie answered with a gush of tears:
“I cannot go until the party is over. Come for me then; come at two o’clock, and I will be ready.”