“Good night, Olivia.”
She flung an angry hand in the darkness and slipped away into the house.
CHAPTER XXVII
MRS. PETTILAND met her at the foot of the stairs. She beamed rosily beneath the gas jet.
“Myra is so much better, Madam, after her sleep. The doctor came while you were out. I’m to make her some chicken broth.”
Olivia mounted the stairs and entered the sick-room.
“Well dearie?”
She turned to the gaunt waxen face on the pillow.
“I’m so glad to hear the doctor’s good report.”
She forced herself to linger, speaking the commonplaces of the sick-room. Then she could bear it no longer.