"I can give him nothing in return. I mustn't see him, I cannot."
She asked the child to take him a message, and wrote a note at once, sitting up in bed as she did so.
"DEAR CHARLIE,—Excuse shaky writing, it is my left hand. I have hurt my right one. I am sorry I cannot see you, but I am not very well, and have gone to bed. I shall be all right again soon. Leave a note with my landlady, if it is anything particular."
"Yours in haste,"
"JEAN."
The little girl stumped downstairs, but Jean's quick ears caught the sound of a very long colloquy on the doorstep, and her landlady's shrill tones predominated. Then, at last she heard retreating footsteps on the pavement outside, and burying her hot head in her pillow, she felt for the moment that her last chance of relief had gone.
When the next day came, after a night of sleeplessness and fever, Jean found herself unable to raise her head.
All that day she tossed on her bed. Her landlady, Mrs. Sykes by name, a rough but good-natured woman, came up and attended to her, but when the second day came and went without any improvement, the landlady began to be anxious.
"I'd best call in a doctor, miss. You be almost light-headed at times!"
"Oh no," said Jean. "I can't afford it. I shall be better. I'm tired. I hope to be up again to-morrow. I am so sorry to be such a trouble."
Mrs. Sykes left her with ominous head-shakings, and Jean caught the murmur.
"She oughter go to hospital, an' she'll 'ave to it she don't get better, for 'tis more than a hard-workin' widder can do, with four days' charin' a week an' six troublesome children!"