She touched his bowed head with shaking fingers.
"Promise me you'll stay, Hildegarde."
"But, Daddy."
"Promise—" Then when he had wrung it out of her, he held her close. "I'll make up to you for everything, my darling."
She felt it was wonderful to rest there in his arms—to know that he needed her. It was almost like having her mother back. And her mother had loved them both.
When Winslow's car arrived, it was learned that Meriweather had a broken arm, and Sally a cut shoulder. The doctor ordered Merry upstairs to bed and went with him. Sally, with an emergency bandage half hiding her silver gown, sat smiling by the fire. Her shoulder ached, but her eyes were bright. What did she care for a cut on the shoulder when Merry had saved her from the fire. He had turned to her and not to Hildegarde, and he had fought his way through the crowd with Sally in his arms. If death had come they would have died together. There were shallows in Sally, but there was this to say for her, that the thought of death had held no terrors with Merry by her side.
The doctor, coming down shortly, said, "It will be best to have Mr. Meriweather stay here until I can see him tomorrow. I must put his arm in a plaster cast."
Christopher, bringing in a tray, asked, "Won't you have a sandwich, doctor?"
"If I can eat it standing. There are other cases waiting."
