"Not 'sir'," put in Ware. "Say 'Will'. And don't flirt, even with your husband. In the first place, it's bad form; in the second place, I won't have it. Now, what's this you would like to do?"
"I would like," said Daisy, "to go over to Harrisons' for dinner, on Sunday, with you."
CHAPTER XVI. Taking a Rest.
But there was no "company" invited to the Harrisons' on the following Sunday.
On the preceding Thursday, which was just two days after the evening she was married, Daisy had an impulse to go and see Jean. By arrangement with the Heathcotes, no notice of the wedding had been allowed to get to the papers; and when Daisy, in a white dress, popped in through the kitchen door of the Harrison house on Thursday afternoon, all Jean knew was that she had mysteriously slipped out on Tuesday evening and had not been seen since.
Daisy bounced over to hug her; but the honest Scot drew herself up sternly, and put out a hand.
"It's no like ye," she said, "to traipze oot like yon, an' gie the good leddy no notice—and her on the broad of her back now, at death's door, too. I ha' made the beds mysel' and sweepit up, forbye my ain work, for twa fu' days now, to save her the worry of havin' a stranger aboot, in her last hours."
"Last hours!" exclaimed Daisy, her breath catching, in the impulsive wave of self-reproach that swept over her, "Is she—dying, then, Jeanie? Why, I—"