"It isn't from Pryor, then," William commented.
"Oh, William," Martha whispered, "what shall we do? Must you give it
to her now?--oh, William!"
Dr. King stood staring at the orange-colored envelope in silence.
"Shall I call Dr. Lavendar?" Martha asked breathlessly.
"Wait," her husband said; "let me think: it may not be anybody very
near and dear; but whether it is or not, there is nothing she can do
about it to-night. The telegraph-office is closed. I don't see why her
evening need be spoiled. No; I won't give it to her now. When the
people go--"
"Oh, dear! Dr. Lavendar says we must end up with a reel. But I'll get
them off as soon as I can," Martha declared, in her capable voice,
"and then I'll break it to her."
"I will tell her," the doctor said. He put the envelope in his pocket
with a troubled frown.
"If she is in affliction, a woman will be more comfort to her than a
man," Martha instructed him. "Look at her now, poor thing! She little
thinks--No indeed; I must stay with her. I'm very tired, and she's not
very friendly, but I won't shirk my duty on that account. That's one
thing about me: I may not be perfect, but I don't let personal
feelings interfere with duty."
"It isn't your duty," William said impatiently; "you'd better arrange
about the reel." And with that he left her. But he was so uneasy at
withholding the telegram that he forgot to choose a partner, and let
Martha push him into place opposite Miss Maggie Jay, who was so stout
that when the two large bodies went jigging down the lane, the
clasping hands arched above their heads had to break apart to give
them room.
"She may think I ought to have told her at once," William was saying
to himself, watching Mrs. Richie with such furtive attention that he
forgot to turn his partner, until Martha's sharp reminder set him
shuffling his feet, and grinning in a sickly way at panting Miss
Maggie.... "Who is 'F.'? Will 'F.'s death be a great grief? Will she
suffer?" William King's kind heart began to beat thickly in his
throat. If she should cry! He bowed, with stiffly swinging arms to
Miss Maggie. He thought of Helena,--who was moving through the dance
as a flower sways on its stalk,--as one thinks of a child in pain;
with the impulse to hold out his arms. In his absorption he stood
stock-still--but happily the reel was over, and the people were
beginning to say good-by. He drew a long breath of relief at getting
rid of them, and as he stood waiting, Martha plucked at his sleeve.
"Give me the despatch; I'll break it to her."