“I wanted to help!”
“That was being pretty good to little Bertie!” He withdrew his hand to drop it above hers, and he looked long into her face. “Pretty good to little Bertie,” he repeated, “and now I want you to be better, and not ask any questions about it. Is Miss Gray—Eleanor—about the house?” 276
“Yes.”
“I thought she might have gone to the ranch. Well, just about to-morrow, will you get her in here—alone?”
“Are you ready—to be agitated?”
“Now you don’t know what I want—or you wouldn’t be asking questions. Will you?”
“Yes, Bertram.”
“You mustn’t talk any more,” spoke the nurse from the corner. And Kate withdrew.
When, next morning, the two girls met in the hall before breakfast, Kate repeated the message simply, carelessly. Eleanor found herself struggling to keep face and color. In spite of her long inner preparation, the emergency came to her with a sense of surprise. How should she carry off this interview? Though her respite had been long, though she had thought much, she had no prepared plan of campaign. Must she lie for the sake of his bodily health, assume the part which she had been playing when he went out of life? Even the question how to get rid of the nurse was a tiny embarrassment.