And now I suppose I can't stay."
"Oh, yes, you can stay if you will keep as still as a mouse so
father can't hear you," she whispered, a note of joy woven in her
tones.
She was leading him to the sofa as she spoke. He placed a cushion
for her, and took his place beside her, resting his injured hand,
which was in a sling, on the arm. He was still weak and shaking.
"Daddy is still in his room," she rattled on nervously, "but he
may be out and prowling about the upstairs hall any minute. He has
a heap of things to talk over with you--he told me so last night--
and if he knew you were here nothing would stop him. Wait till I
shut the door. And now tell me about yourself," she continued in a
louder voice, regaining her seat. "You have had a dreadful time, I
hear--it was the wrist, wasn't it?" She felt she was beginning
badly; although conscious of her nervous joy and her desire to
conceal it, somehow it seemed hard for her to say the right thing.
"Oh, I reckon it was everything, Miss Ruth, but it's all over
now.
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