Oh, good. I was worried you'd taken ill."
"Why?" Elizabeth asked as she took a sip of the chocolate. It was cold as ice!
"Because I couldn't wake-"
"What is it?" Elizabeth cried.
"Nearly eleven."
"Eleven! But I told you to wake me at eight! How could you let me oversleep this way?" she said, her sleep-drugged mind already groping wildly for a solution. She could dress quickly and catch up with everyone. Or…
"I try," Berta exclaimed, hurt by the uncharacteristic sharpness in Elizabeth's tone, "but you didn't want to wake up."
"I want to awaken, Berta, you know that!"
"But you were worse this morning than normal. You said your head ached."
"I say things like that. I don't know what I'm saying when I'm asleep. I'll say anything to bargain for a few minutes' more sleep. You've known that for years, and you always shake me awake anyway."
"But you said," Berta persisted, tugging unhappily a her apron, "that since it rained so much last night you were sure the trip to the village wouldn't take place, so you didn't have to arise at all."
"Berta, for heaven's sake!" Elizabeth cried, throwing off the covers and jumping out of bed with more energy than she'd ever shown after such a short period of wakefulness. "I've told you I'm dying of diphtheria to make you go away, and that didn't succeed!"
"Well," Berta shot back, marching over to the bell pull and ringing for a bath to be brought up, "when you told me , your face wasn't pale and your head didn't feel hot to my touch. And you hadn't dragged yourself into bed as if you could hardly stand when it was half past one in the morning!"
Contrite, Elizabeth slumped down in the bed. "It's not your fault that I sleep like a hibernating bear. And besides, if they didn't go to the village, it makes no difference at all that I overslept." She was trying to resign herself to the notion of spending the day in the house with a man who could look at her across a roomful of diners and make her heart leap when Berta said, "They did go to the village. Last night's storm was more noise and threat than rain."
Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Elizabeth emitted a long sigh. It was already eleven, which meant Ian had already begun his useless vigil at the cottage.
"Why?" Elizabeth asked as she took a sip of the chocolate. It was cold as ice!
"Because I couldn't wake-"
"What is it?" Elizabeth cried.
"Nearly eleven."
"Eleven! But I told you to wake me at eight! How could you let me oversleep this way?" she said, her sleep-drugged mind already groping wildly for a solution. She could dress quickly and catch up with everyone. Or…
"I try," Berta exclaimed, hurt by the uncharacteristic sharpness in Elizabeth's tone, "but you didn't want to wake up."
"I want to awaken, Berta, you know that!"
"But you were worse this morning than normal. You said your head ached."
"I say things like that. I don't know what I'm saying when I'm asleep. I'll say anything to bargain for a few minutes' more sleep. You've known that for years, and you always shake me awake anyway."
"But you said," Berta persisted, tugging unhappily a her apron, "that since it rained so much last night you were sure the trip to the village wouldn't take place, so you didn't have to arise at all."
"Berta, for heaven's sake!" Elizabeth cried, throwing off the covers and jumping out of bed with more energy than she'd ever shown after such a short period of wakefulness. "I've told you I'm dying of diphtheria to make you go away, and that didn't succeed!"
"Well," Berta shot back, marching over to the bell pull and ringing for a bath to be brought up, "when you told me , your face wasn't pale and your head didn't feel hot to my touch. And you hadn't dragged yourself into bed as if you could hardly stand when it was half past one in the morning!"
Contrite, Elizabeth slumped down in the bed. "It's not your fault that I sleep like a hibernating bear. And besides, if they didn't go to the village, it makes no difference at all that I overslept." She was trying to resign herself to the notion of spending the day in the house with a man who could look at her across a roomful of diners and make her heart leap when Berta said, "They did go to the village. Last night's storm was more noise and threat than rain."
Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Elizabeth emitted a long sigh. It was already eleven, which meant Ian had already begun his useless vigil at the cottage.
( Judith McNaught )
[ Almost Heaven ]
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