Then Baldy came up and demanded, “What’s the matter, Kitten? You’ve never been afraid of storms.”
She tried to smile at him. “Well, I’ve gone through such a lot lately.” But Baldy wasn’t satisfied. A Jane who dissolved into tears was a disturbing and desolating object. He glowered at Frederick, holding him responsible.
At this moment Waldron reappeared to say that Briggs had pronounced the streets impassable. Branches had been blown down—and there was other wreckage.
“That settles it,” Frederick said. “You two young things may as well stay here for the night. Jane’s not fit to go out anyhow.”
“Oh, I’m all right,” she protested.
Edith suggested bridge, so they played for a while. The big room was still lighted by the candles, so that the shadows pressed close. Jane was very pale, and now and then Frederick looked at her anxiously.
“You and Edith had better go up,” he said at last. “And you must have Alice get you some hot milk—I’ll send Waldron with a bit of cordial to set you up.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want it.”
“But I want you to have it.” There was a note of authority which almost brought her again to tears. She hated to have anyone tell her what she should do. She liked to do as she pleased. But later, when the glass of cordial came up to her, she drank it.
She did not go to sleep for a long time. Edith sat by the bed and talked to her. “I shouldn’t,” she apologized; “Uncle Fred told you to rest.”