She did not come to the cot again but got quietly into bed, and in a few minutes Augusta listening to her breathing knew that she had fallen asleep almost instantly like a tired, contented child.
When she was sure that her mother was sleeping soundly, Augusta rose, found a dressing robe and slippers, and stole like a thief out into the hall.
Wardwell was in the common sitting room, alone. He did not hear her coming. He was reading, and she stood a moment in the doorway looking at him, before she said:
"Jimmie."
He looked up and said, as though he had the words all ready studied and framed:
"That was nothing less than inspiration, dear."
"I do not know," said Augusta hesitatingly. "I was very frightened. Is it—right?"
"Yes," said Wardwell simply. "It's right. However it is in the daytime, when you're dressed, she'll never leave this house so long as she hopes to find you there, like that, at night."
"Then—Good night, Jimmie."
"Good night, dear."