Thus, bitterly, Tibby cogitated, and scourged herself, and shed tears of contrition. But the second week went by and still Donald came not to see her. Tibby became hysterical. She was wildly mirthful and hilarious at times, and again her eyes showed signs of weeping.
Mrs. Wylie became anxious concerning her protege, fearing she was ill. Tibby ate little, and was in every way capricious, and unlike her strong, forceful self. “The shock of her dangerous ride has unnerved her,� Mrs. Wylie reiterated. She believed she ought to consult a physician, but as the nearest one was twenty-five miles away she put off doing so, hoping for an improvement in her child.
At last Tibby could stand the uncertainty no longer. She must know if she was forgiven and reestablish the friendship between them, and thank Donald for preserving her life.
She resolved to interrogate Mrs. Cramer, and act upon her advice.
For some reason she felt less reluctant to advise with her than with Mrs. Wylie. She found her hostess putting on her wraps preparatory to going out.
“My dear Mrs. Cramer,� she said coaxingly, “I want to see Donald Bartram, and thank him for rescuing me. I was too ill to do so when he was here, and besides I did not know the magnitude of the risk he ran. Do you think it would be proper for me to send him a note, asking him to call?� There was a touch of anxiety in Tibby’s tone.
“Why, certainly,� replied Alice. “We are not at all conventional here. Besides, the straightforward way is always the best, I think.�
“I hope so,� responded Tibby soberly.
“Yes, you write your note, and I will take it over to him now. Mrs. Wylie and I are going over to Lissa’s.�
“Here it is, I have written it beforehand,� Tibby returned, a flush of carmine vividly emphasizing her embarrassment. “I would rather you did not—that is—Mrs. Wylie need not know of it—at least not now,� she stammered.