But he interrupted her. "You are very beguiling, Nelly, but I am
afraid I must be thinking of the stage--it is after three. Before I go
I just want to say--" then he broke off. "Come in! Well? What is it?"
he demanded impatiently.
"Please, ma'am," said Sarah, standing in the doorway, her face
puckered almost to tears, "David's woke up, and he's crying, and I
can't do nothing with him. He wants you, ma'am."
"Oh, poor darling! Tell him I'll come right up," Mrs. Richie said,
rising in quick distress.
"Nonsense!" said Lloyd Pryor, sharply. "Sarah, tell the boy to behave
himself. Mrs. Richie can't come now."
Sarah hurried up-stairs, but Helena stood in painful indecision. "Oh,
Lloyd, I must go! I'll just sit with him a minute!"
"You'll just sit with me a minute," he said calmly. "Be sensible,
Helena. I want to speak to you about something."
But she did not hear him; she was listening for David's voice. A
little whimpering cry reached her, and the tears sprung to her eyes.
"Lloyd! I must. He is crying."
"Let him cry."
"He's takin' on so, please come up, ma'am," came Sarah's entreating
voice from over the banisters in the upper hall.
"Oh, Lloyd, I must!" She turned; but he, springing up, caught her
wrist and pulled her to him.
"Don't be a fool."
"Let me go! Oh, how cruel you are!" She tried to wrench her wrist from
his grasp. "I hate you!"
"Hate me, do you?" He laughed, and catching her in his arms, kissed
her again and again. Then he put his hands in his pockets and stepped
back, leaving her free. "Will you go?"
She stood, vibrating between surprised affection and anguished longing
for the child. "Lloyd!" she said faintly; she put her hands over her
face, and came towards him slowly, shivering a little, and murmuring
"Lloyd!" Then, with a sudden gasp, she turned and fled up-stairs.
"David--I am coming--"
Lloyd Pryor stood dumfounded; in his astonishment he almost laughed.
But at that instant he heard the crunch of wheels drawing up at the
gate. "The stage!" he said to himself, and called out, angrily,
"Helena!"
But it was not the stage; it was William King's shabby old buggy
standing in the shadow of the big locust by the roadside; and there
was the doctor himself coming up the path.