She held out her hand and I took it between both of mine.
“What can I say to you, Miss Innes?” she said slowly. “To have come like this—”
I thought she was going to break down, but she did not.
“You are not to think of anything but of getting well,” I said, patting her hand. “When you are better, I am going to scold you for not coming here at once. This is your home, my dear, and of all people in the world, Halsey’s old aunt ought to make you welcome.”
She smiled a little, sadly, I thought.
“I ought not to see Halsey,” she said. “Miss Innes, there are a great many things you will never understand, I am afraid. I am an impostor on your sympathy, because I—I stay here and let you lavish care on me, and all the time I know you are going to despise me.”
“Nonsense!” I said briskly. “Why, what would Halsey do to me if I even ventured such a thing? He is so big and masterful that if I dared to be anything but rapturous over you, he would throw me out of a window. Indeed, he would be quite capable of it.”
She seemed scarcely to hear my facetious tone. She had eloquent brown eyes—the Inneses are fair, and are prone to a grayish-green optic that is better for use than appearance—and they seemed now to be clouded with trouble.
“Poor Halsey!” she said softly. “Miss Innes, I can not marry him, and I am afraid to tell him. I am a coward—a coward!”
I sat beside the bed and stared at her. She was too ill to argue with, and, besides, sick people take queer fancies.