"Oh, see here!" she cried, with brusque cheerfulness. "You're not so bad
off as you think you are, Bibbs. You're on the mend; and it won't do you
any harm to please your--"

"It isn't that," he interrupted. "Honestly, I'm only afraid it might
spoil somebody's appetite. Edith--"

"I told you the child was too sensitive," she interrupted, in turn.
"You're a plenty good-lookin' enough young man for anybody! You look
like you been through a long spell and begun to get well, and that's all
there is to it."

"All right. I'll come to the party. If the rest of you can stand it, I
can!"

"It 'll do you good," she returned, rustling into the hall. "Now take
a nap, and I'll send one o' the help to wake you in time for you to get
dressed up before dinner. You go to sleep right away, now, Bibbs!"

Bibbs was unable to obey, though he kept his eyes closed. Something
she had said kept running in his mind, repeating itself over and over
interminably. "His plans for you--his plans for you--his plans for
you--his plans for you--" And then, taking the place of "his plans for
you," after what seemed a long, long while, her flurried voice came
back to him insistently, seeming to whisper in his ear: "He loves his
chuldern--he loves his chuldern--he loves his chuldern"--"you'll find
he's always right--you'll find he's always right--" Until at last, as he
drifted into the state of half-dreams and distorted realities, the voice
seemed to murmur from beyond a great black wing that came out of the
wall and stretched over his bed--it was a black wing within the room,
and at the same time it was a black cloud crossing the sky, bridging the
whole earth from pole to pole. It was a cloud of black smoke, and out
of the heart of it came a flurried voice whispering over and over, "His
plans for you--his plans for you--his plans for you--" And then there
was nothing.

He woke refreshed, stretched himself gingerly--as one might have a care
against too quick or too long a pull upon a frayed elastic--and, getting
to his feet, went blinking to the window and touched the shade so that
it flew up, letting in a pale sunset.

He looked out into the lemon-colored light and smiled wanly at the
next house, as Edith's grandiose phrase came to mind, "the old Vertrees
country mansion." It stood in a broad lawn which was separated from the
Sheridans' by a young hedge; and it was a big, square, plain old box
of a house with a giant salt-cellar atop for a cupola.