“You must see him,” Doctor Charley replied firmly.
“But how? I can not send for him again, and he will not come of his own will.”
“That is true. But, Molly—how strange it sounds to call you Molly! You must get strong enough to go out of this room, to meet your husband at the table, and in the parlor daily. You must accept invitations to places where he will be compelled to attend you. Gradually you will win him back to his old attendance on you, his old loving care. Then the rest will be easy.”
“I will try, oh, so hard,” she said, and deeply moved, he pressed the little nervous hand.
“When you get stronger you will write to me and tell me how you get on with your labor of love,” he said. “And now, little sister, I must bid you adieu, I must return to Paris tonight, having missed all the lectures during the weeks I have been chasing that runaway Cecil.”
“God bless you for all your goodness to me,” she whispered, and he went away with those grateful words ringing like music in his ears.
She turned wistfully to Phebe.
“Do you not think I am strong enough to go into the parlor tonight?”
“No, indeed, that you are not!” replied the maid decidedly, and after a minute she added with a snort of displeasure, “besides there would be no use. I heard Mrs. Laurens’ maid saying just now that her mistress and Mr. Cecil were going to the opera with the Barrys. I’ll tell you one thing, Mrs. Laurens. That yellow-eyed deceitful woman is going to take your husband from you if she can!”
“She can not do that, for he is bound to me,” Molly exclaimed, but the warning never left her thoughts, for she knew that Louise would try to widen the gulf between her and Cecil until it should become impassable.