"And," pursued the loquacious maid, "he is the rich lord that they all say you are going to marry, isn't he, Miss Ethel?"
"Yes," answered Ethel carelessly, then added:
"But I don't think I shall accept him."
She turned away from the maid as she spoke and went from her own apartments toward those of Precious, nearer to her mother.
She opened the door very softly and glided in.
They were all there, her father, mother, brother, and the physician.
Precious lay on her bed, white as a lily, but breathing faintly. She had revived from her swoon, but she had not yet spoken. Her half-open blue eyes seemed to know that they were all there, but she was too exhausted to utter a word.
Ethel bent down and pressed her lips on the wasted little hand, and when she met the gaze of the half-conscious blue eyes she whispered, too low for any one to hear:
"Please don't tell any one I was there with you, Precious, until you get well enough for me to explain."
The little hand she was holding gave hers a weak pressure that showed her that Precious understood and would not speak.