They've sent for Aunt Maria, but she can't come before afternoon." Mrs.White fastened a button on her waist.

"Well, I'll stay till then," said she.

"Lillian can get along all right." Lillian was Mrs.
White's eighteen-year-old daughter.
Mrs.White opened the kitchen door.

"How is she ?" she said in a hushed voice to Harry Edgham, frantically stirring the burned eggs, which sent up a monstrous smoke and smell.

As she spoke, she went over to him, took the frying-pan out of his hands, and carried it over to the sink.
"She is a very sick woman," replied Harry Edgham, looking at Mrs.
White with a measure of gratitude.
"You've got Dr.Williams and Miss Bell, Maria says ?" "Yes." "Maria says her aunt is coming ?" "Yes, I sent a telegram." "Well, I'll stay till she gets here," said Mrs.White, and again that expression of almost childish gratitude came over the man's face.
Mrs.White began scraping the burned eggs off the pan.
"They haven't had any breakfast," said Harry, looking upward.
"And they don't dare leave her ?" "No." "Well, you just go and do anything you want to, Maria and I will get the breakfast." Mrs.White spoke with a kindly, almost humorous inflection.