“I don't know, Helen,” said the other, “but it is certainly inopportune for you. Of course the company will all have to leave.”
“To leave!” echoed Helen; she had never once thought of that.
“Why, of course,” said her aunt. “It would not be possible to enjoy ourselves under such very dreadful circumstances.”
“But, Aunt Polly, that is a shame!” cried the girl. “The idea of so many people being inconvenienced for such a cause. Can't he be moved?”
“The doctor declares it would be impossible at present, Helen, and it would not look right anyway, you know. He will certainly have to remain until he is better.”
“And how long will that be?”
“A week, or perhaps more,” was the reply.
And Helen saw that her promised holiday was ruined; her emotions, however, were not all of disappointment, for though she was vexed at the interruptions, she recollected with sudden relief that she could thus obtain, and without so much effort of her own, the time to debate the problem of Mr. Harrison. Also there was in her mind, if not exactly pity for the invalid, at any rate the nearest to it that Helen had ever learned to feel, an uncomfortable fright at the idea of such suffering.
“I promise you,” said Aunt Polly, who had been watching her face and trying to read her emotions, “that we shall only postpone the good time I meant to give you. You cannot possibly be more vexed about it than I, for I was rejoicing in your triumph with Mr. Harrison.”
“I'm not worrying on that account,” said Helen, angrily.