Magda swelled resentfully, for this of course was an exaggeration; but he went on wrathfully—"I'll take good care nothing of that sort ever happens again! I'll look after her myself in future—if—" and there was an ominous choke in his voice—"if—if she gets over—this!"
Magda's heart gave a great frightened throb.
"Is Merryl lying down still?"
"Lying down still!" growled Mr. Royston. "That's all you know! That's all you care!" He turned off, as if not trusting himself to say more, and disappeared in the study, shutting the door.
Magda stood feeling dazed. It was as if a small thunderbolt had fallen at her feet. If Merryl should get over this! She repeated the words to herself. Get over what? Something must have come to pass while she was away—something unlooked-for. All sorts of conjectures thronged up, none of which would fit the case. But Merryl was ill. Merryl must be ill. That "if she gets over this" could have no other meaning. She must have been ill in the morning—too ill for a long hot bicycle ride—and Magda had refused to go in her stead.
In one moment the world had changed; and she saw it from a new standpoint. No longer was Patricia the one and only person to be considered. Suddenly she found how much these home-ties really meant—how dear to her heart was this unselfish little sister, Merryl! Ill! Perhaps not to get over it! Oh, but that was impossible. It could not have come upon them with such frightful suddenness. And Mr. Royston was always an alarmist, especially in regard to Merryl.
Magda plucked up courage, and went to the school-room. She must hear more—must know what it all meant.
At first the room looked empty. Then she espied a small figure, curled up in one corner of the deep old window seat, with long hair falling like a veil and hiding the child's face.
"Frip!" The word came fearfully. Dread surged up anew.
Francie made no answer. Magda went close, putting an urgent arm round the little figure; and there was a slight shake of the shoulders, as if to repudiate her touch.