“Yes.” Douglas bent to catch the monosyllable. Her foot turned on the uneven ground and he put his hand on her arm to steady her. As his fingers closed over her soft, rounded arm, he instinctively drew her closer. The warmth of her skin through her glove thrilled him.
“I hope you will ask me again,” she said.
“To-morrow—will you go with me to-morrow?” insistently.
“Yes.” She met his eyes for a second, then glanced away, while a hot blush mantled her cheeks. “Provided, of course, that Cynthia Carew does not need me.” Then in a louder tone, “Well, Uncle Dana, how are you?”
“Feeling splendidly. No need to ask about you and Douglas”—he smiled quizzically. “I am glad that you could come here to-day, Eleanor.”
“I did not wish to, but Cousin Kate Truxton insisted that I had to bring her here. She declared that she would not come otherwise, and made such a point of it that I could not refuse, particularly as Mrs. Winthrop and Cynthia would not hear of my remaining with them.”
“I have just come from there,” responded Colonel Thornton; “Cynthia came into the library while I was talking to Mrs. Winthrop, and I was shocked by her appearance. The child has wasted away.”
“Is it not pitiful?” exclaimed Eleanor. “It nearly breaks my heart to see her suffering. She neither eats nor sleeps.”
“Can’t you give her an opiate?” asked Douglas.
“She declines to take one.”