"Nothing much. Just chit-chat! He seems getting tired of Burrside already."
"He always does in a day or two."
"Or a week or two."
Unobservant Anice noticed nothing unusual in Fulvia's shaking hands or crimson face; but the next moment Daisy rushed in.
"Oh, did I make a noise? I'm sorry. I quite forgot. Why, Fulvie—what a colour you are! As red as beetroot! Cousin Jamie would say you were feverish."
"Nonsense. What have you there?"
"Only a postscript from Mr. Carden-Cox for you. It went to Nigel by mistake. I can't imagine what Mr. Carden-Cox has been about. He sent another to me instead of to Ethel. You haven't one too, I suppose, meant for somebody else? Only that sheet—" as Fulvia pointed to the one lying on her knee. "Fulvie! I say! I'm sure you are not so well this evening. What is the matter? Anything Mr. Carden-Cox has said? I shall have to call madre. Why, your hands are like fire, and beating as if they were alive. I can feel them."
Fulvia snatched the said hands petulantly away.
"Nonsense! Don't. I wish you would not tease. I will not have a word said to madre, and I only want to be quiet. There is such an amount of talk and bustle, and my head is wild."
Daisy grew gentle. "I'm sorry. We won't talk any more," she said in a penitent voice. "Fulvie, if you just get into bed, I'll only help you and not say a word. Please do."