"Did he sell the island?" asked Dosia.
Lois shook her head. "No. They may really sell it next week, but not now—only that will be too late to save the business. Of course, Mr. Girard doesn't know that, and Justin will not tell him—he says Mr. Girard cannot help. Oh, Dosia, when Justin came in from that ride he looked so well, and now—" She covered her face with her hands, before recovering herself. "It's time you were both asleep."
"Can't I help you?" asked Dosia; but Lois only answered indifferently, "No, it's not necessary," and went around making arrangements, while Dosia, with Zaidee nestling close to her, slept at last.
It was late the next morning before Girard came down. Justin had had breakfast, and gone; Lois was up-stairs with the children, and Dosia, who had been tidying up the place, was arranging some flowers in the vases when he strode in. There was no vestige of that sick-hearted, imploring maiden of the night before; no desolate frenzy was to be seen in this trim, neat, capable little figure, clad in blue gingham, that made her throat very white, her hair very fair. Something in Girard's glance seemed to show an instant pleasure that she should be the one to greet him, but he bent anxiously over the watch he held in his hand.
"Will you tell me what time it is? My watch has stopped."
"It's half-past nine," said Dosia.
"Half-past nine!" He looked at her in a sort of quick, horrified arraignment. "What do you mean?" His eye fell upon the clock, and conviction seemed to steal upon him against his will. "Heavens and earth, why wasn't I called? On this morning of all others, when every moment's of importance! I thought I asked particularly to be waked early."
"I suppose they thought you were tired and needed the rest," apologized Dosia.
"Needed the rest!" His tone was poignant; he looked outraged; but his anger was entirely impersonal—there was in it even a sort of boyish appeal to her, as if she must feel it, too.
"You had better sit down and have some breakfast."