CHAPTER ELEVEN
"I'm Worried About Mildred"
"Wilson, I'm worried. I'm worried about Mildred. Something is haunting that girl. Something has been haunting her for days. She says nothing, of course; but I can see, I can't help but see. She is worried almost to insanity." So Constance said to her brother, some days after Mildred met the man who saw her in Cincinnati.
"I wonder what it can be," said he, thoughtfully.
"I'd give anything to know," she sighed. "The only thing I know is that she is worried. I dare not ask her. She is not inviting in her demeanor, when it comes to confidences. She seems to be looking for something, simply uneasy always, and hesitant. Some days, she seems to dislike to go canvassing; in fact, for some time now, she has been nervous every time she ventures out."
"I wonder whether it would not be advisable to ask her to lay off a few days."
"I have thought of that," said she; "but she has so many deliveries to make that she is almost compelled to go out every day. And then, if what she fears is to happen, I'm sure she would be more worried if she stayed in."
"I'm willing to do anything to help Mildred." She looked at him, but they were both too preoccupied to take notice of the fact that he had called her by her first name.
"The only time I can seem to get her away from that worried, tired expression, is when I play. She listens and becomes, at least for a time, oblivious to her troubles."