"Are you there, dear?" she called softly; and was answered by a stifled sound from the region of the bed, where Evelyn lay prone, her face buried in the pillows. At that Honor came forward, and laid a firm though a not unkindly hand upon her.
"Evelyn, this is childish selfishness. Get up and go to him at once."
The sole answer vouchsafed to her was a vehement shaking of the fair head; a fresh paroxysm of distress.
"My dear—my dear," she urged, bending down and speaking more softly, "you must pull yourself together. This is no time to think of your own trouble. He is wounded, anxious, and terribly unhappy and—he wants you. Do you call this being a loyal wife? Remember, you promised——"
Thus appealed to, Evelyn lifted her head, supporting it on one elbow, and showed a grief-disfigured face.
"Yes, I know. But—couldn't you go to him, just for now, Honor? You're not upset, like I am;—and say I—I'll come when I'm better."
Honor went white to the lips.
"No, Evelyn," she said, her anger rising as she went on. "There are things that even I must refuse to do for you. I have done all that is in my power; but I will not take your place with—your husband."
Astonishment checked Evelyn's sobbing, and a spark of unreasoning jealousy shot through the mist of her tears.
"I don't want you to take my place with him. He's mine!"