"I must have cut my lip somehow," she said; "there's blood on my handkerchief. How did I come in here?"
"Blood!" said the Frenchwoman; "where did you cut yourself, Nettie? Let me look!"
Which she did, with a face so anxious and eager that Nettie smiled at her. Her own brow was as quiet and placid as ever it was.
"How did I get in here, Mrs. August?"
The Frenchwoman, however, did not answer her. Instead of which she went to her cupboard and got a cup and spoon, and then from a little saucepan on the stove dipped out some riz-au-gras again.
"What did you have for dinner, Nettie? you did not tell me."
"Not much—I wasn't hungry," said Nettie. "Oh, I must get up and go home to mother."
"You shall eat something first," said her friend; and she raised Nettie's head upon another pillow, and began to feed her with the spoon. "It is good for you. You must take it. Where is your father? Don't talk, but tell me. I will do everything right."
"He is at work on Mr. Jackson's new house."
"Is he there to-day?"