"There, there, dear, you are ill and overwrought," cried Mrs.
Colebrook, hastening to the bedside. "It is just as I said, you are
not fit to get up." Then, to Susan, sharply: "You may put Master
Keith's clothes back in the closet. He will not need them to-day."

"No, ma'am, I don't think he will need them--now." Susan's eyes
flashed ominously. But she hung the clothes back in the closet, picked
up the tray, and left the room.

Susan's eyes flashed ominously, indeed, all the rest of the morning,
while she was about her work; and at noon, when she gave the call to
dinner, there was a curious metallic incisiveness in her voice, which
made the call more strident than usual.

It was when Mrs. Colebrook went into the kitchen after dinner for
Keith's tray that she said coldly to Susan:

"Susan, I don't like that absurd doggerel of yours."

"Doggerel?" Plainly Susan was genuinely ignorant of what she meant.

"Yes, that extraordinary dinner call of yours. As I said before, I
don't like it."

There was a moment's dead silence. The first angry flash in Susan's
eyes was followed by a demure smile.

"Don't you? Why, I thought it was real cute, now."