"You dear!" Kathleen sat up and kissed her warmly and Mrs. Whitney, quite overcome, embraced her with tears in her eyes.
"What's a friend for if she can't be of use!" Miss Kiametia's manner was always most brusque when seeking to cover emotion. "Land sakes! I forgot to tell you that Randall Foster wishes to see you both."
"Now!" Kathleen looked down at her negligée attire. "Can't he wait until tomorrow? Dr. McLane said I could get up then."
"He is very anxious to interview you this evening, Kathleen. Put on this pretty dressing-gown," and Miss Kiametia picked it up from the couch. "You help her into it, Minna, while I go and get Randall," and not waiting for a reply she whisked out of the room, returning a few minutes later with Senator Foster.
"I am here under the doctor's order," explained Kathleen, taking his proffered hand, after he had greeted Mrs. Whitney. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," muttered Foster, recovering with an effort from the shock her appearance occasioned him. She looked wretchedly ill, and the hand he held for a second in his was hot with fever. "I can stay but a minute, Miss Kathleen. Do you think that tomorrow you can sign some papers in reference to Sinclair Spencer's will?"
"Why should I sign any such papers?" in quick surprise. "What have I to do with his will?"
"Hasn't your mother told you?" Mrs. Whitney shook her head, and answered for Kathleen.
"Winslow said not to mention the matter to Kathleen yesterday, and today his illness put everything out of my mind," she explained.
Kathleen looked from one to the other. "What have I to do with his will?" she repeated.