'Telephone to Braithwaite. At once. Say it's urgent. Poor little Edith!'
'What is it?' she cried in a frightened voice.
'I'd better not tell you,' he said, trying to hide it.
'Tell me—oh! tell me!'
'It's a hundred and nineteen. Now don't waste time. You meant no harm, dear, but you worried and excited me. It isn't your fault. Don't blame yourself. Of course, you would do it.'
'Oh, I know what it is,' cried Edith. 'I dipped it in boiling water before I gave it to you.'
'Idiot! You might have broken it!' said Bruce.
The explanation seemed to annoy him very much; nevertheless he often referred afterwards to the extraordinary way his temperature used to jump about, which showed what a peculiarly violent, virulent, dangerous form of influenza he had had, and how wonderful it was he had thrown it off, in spite of Edith's inexperienced, not to say careless, nursing, entirely by his own powerful will and indomitable courage.
CHAPTER XXI
'Engaged'