“Don’t you really think, Geraldine, that you could manage to sit still for at least five minutes?”
Mrs. Barlow’s tone was plaintive, as she lifted her head from the sofa cushions in her darkened bedroom. Geraldine turned from the open window, where she had been trying to peep through the closed blinds, and came over to her mother’s side.
“I’m sorry I bother you, Mummy,” she said. “I really am trying to keep quiet, but it’s so hard to settle down to anything. I suppose I’m nervous.”
“Nervous!” repeated Mrs. Barlow, with a sigh; “I should think you were! We are all nervous, for that matter, and who can wonder at it. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since it happened, and if it were not for the bromide Dr. Trevor gives me, I’m sure I don’t know where I should be now. As it is, my head is splitting.”
“Let me bathe it with cologne,” proposed Geraldine, eager for any occupation, “or else let me fan you.”
“The scent of the cologne makes me ill, but you may fan me if you like. This heat is frightful. I am sure the thermometer must be up to ninety. Don’t you want to go and look?”
“Where’s the use? You’ll only feel worse if you know how hot it is. It’s cooler in this room than anywhere else. The sun doesn’t come here till afternoon. Then you can go into the library.”
“I’d rather stay here. The noise in the front of the house drives me frantic. I was never in town at this season before in my life. If it doesn’t get cooler in a day or two, I shall have to persuade your father to take us to the shore.”
“You wouldn’t go away now, Mother, would you?—not before Gretel is found.”
Mrs. Barlow sighed again, and passed her hand wearily across her forehead.