Not one of the others—not even Cherry—had suffered as she did; and certainly none had been more patient. Somehow, though we had been careful of her from the first, and though we knew of no direct chill, the rash would not come out properly, and fever ran high. We could not leave her alone at night, for she was often wandering.
Churton came to the front door now and then to ask questions; but he would not step inside. He said it was “unnecessary” and “best not.”
I told him one day that Maimie was very very ill; and the doctor thought she might not get over it. He said, “Poor little woman! I can’t think how in the world you managed to get measles into your house!”—as if that were our fault.
I said, “Will you not wish to see her, Churton, if she is taken worse?”
He was standing three or four yards off from me, and looked by no means inclined to fall in with my suggestion.
“Well—no—I don’t see any use.” he said. “I couldn’t do her any good by coming. And the old lady would not like it.”
“You need not call at 'The Gables’ the same day, after seeing Maimie,” I said.
“Well—no,” Churton answered again. “But it isn’t exactly a matter of calling. I’m staying there just now. It seems a comfort to Aunt Briscoe. And of course I feel bound to consult her feelings.”
“You have not told us that before,” I said.
“Didn’t I? How stupid of me! I’ve only been there a—well, a few days. Last week, wasn’t it? I suppose I forgot. You and I don’t see much of one another just now—that’s the fact.”