"It was my unfortunately straight way of speaking," resumes the doctor moving towards the bed again; "speaking right out what I think without considering the consequences."
"Unfortunate," repeats Honor, raising her eyebrows; "I should call it a very good way of speaking. I think it must be dreadful to lack the courage to say what one really thinks."
"Oh, yes, of course," the doctor agrees; "but there are always two ways of saying a thing, Miss Merivale; and I assure you I often get myself into hot-water with my bluntness of speech, especially with touchy old gentlemen whose ideas as to their ailments, either real or imaginary, do not always agree with mine. Now then, I will tell your mother what to do for the little patient if you will take me to her, and I will send round a draught directly I get home."
"Mother will be very pleased to see you, Dr. Sinclair, but please give me all the necessary directions about Daisy. Doris and I will have to nurse her, so it will be better."
"Certainly. But is your mother ill, then?"
"No, not ill exactly," replies Honor truthfully; "but she is very delicate and extremely nervous, and we, my sisters and I, always save her all the trouble and anxiety that we can. Indeed," she adds hastily, seeing a slightly incredulous expression pass across the young man's face, "she would not be strong enough to do anything in the way of nursing."
"Hum!" mutters the doctor grimly, and following Honor walks down to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Merivale, with smelling-bottle close at hand, is reclining on the sofa. It does not take the clear-sighted doctor long to sum up this lady's character.
"Full of fads and fancies," he thinks to himself as he stands, hat in hand, answering the questions she puts to him concerning the state of her little daughter.
So, preferring to make Honor responsible in all matters connected with the sick-room, he takes his departure as speedily as politeness will let him, saying as he shakes hands with her that he will look round early in the morning. By that time poor little Daisy is considerably worse, the fever having increased greatly during the night. Dr. Sinclair looks grave, and thinking it better to be open with his "sensible little friend," as he calls Honor to himself, tells her plainly that the child will in all probability be seriously ill.
"Do not alarm yourself unnecessarily as yet," he says kindly to her and Molly, who with widely opened eyes is scanning his face anxiously, "she is very young, of course, and although her strength is at a very low ebb she will very likely pull through it quite nicely. It is wonderful what children do go through. So we must all cheer up and hope for the best."