In no other way could
they account for the sad change that had come to her.
Undeniably Billy looked really ill. Always slender, she was shadow-like
now. Her eyes had found again the wistful appeal of her girlhood, only
now they carried something that was almost fear, as well. The rose-flush
had gone from her cheeks, and pathetic little hollows had appeared,
making the round young chin below look almost pointed. Certainly Billy
did seem to be ill.
Late in September William went West on business. Incidentally he called
to see his sister, Kate.
"Well, and how is everybody?" asked Kate, cheerily, after the greetings
were over.
William sighed.
"Well, 'everybody,' to me, Kate, is pretty badly off. We're worried
about Billy."
"Billy! You don't mean she's sick? Why, she's always been the picture of
health!"
"I know she has; but she isn't now."
"What's the trouble?"
"That's what we don't know."
"You've had the doctor?"
"Of course; two or three of them--though much against Billy's will.
But--they didn't help us."
"What did they say?"
"They could find nothing except perhaps a little temporary stomach
trouble, or something of that kind, which they all agreed was no just
cause for her present condition."
"But what did they say it was?"
"Why, they said it seemed like nervousness, or as if something was
troubling her.
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