“I didn’t,” said William indignantly. “I only told Mrs. Morrison.”
“But William,” said his mother, sitting down weakly on the nearest chair, “why on earth——?”
“Well, Ethel didn’t want to go to the Morrisons to-night. She wanted to go to the Helms’——”
“I did not,” said Ethel. “I was glad to get out of going to the Helms’.”
“Well, how was I to know?” said William desperately. “I had to go by what you said and I had to go by what Robert wrote. I wanted to help. I’ve took no end of trouble—livin’ a life of self-sacrifice and service all day without stoppin’ once, and ’stead of being grateful an’ happy an’ admirin’——”
“But William,” said Mrs. Brown, “how did you think it was going to help anyone to say that Ethel had epilepsy and consumption?”
“I’d rather have epilepsy and consumption,” said Robert who had returned to the sofa and was sitting with his head between his hands, “than be engaged to Marion Dexter.”
“I must say I simply can’t understand why you’ve been doing all this, William,” said Mrs. Brown. “We must just wait till your father comes in and see what he makes of it. And I can’t think why dinner’s so late.”
“She’s gone to bed,” said William gloomily.
“I’d better see to things then,” said Mrs. Brown going into the hall.