"Mr. Richard De Jarnette."
In the parlor she hardly waited for a conventional greeting.
"What is it? Has anything happened to Philip?"
"Yes," he answered gravely. "Philip is ill—not alarmingly so, I hope, but seriously."
"What is the matter with him? How long has he been sick?"
"I knew nothing of it till yesterday morning, though Mammy Cely tells me he was restless and feverish all the night before. I sent for the doctor at once and he got a nurse there by noon. I shall get another one to-day—a night nurse."
"Two nurses! What do they think it is?"
"The doctor pronounces it scarlet fever."
"Scarlet fever!" Every vestige of color left her face. "How could he have taken scarlet fever? Has he been exposed to it?" Then rapidly counting back, "It must have been at the egg-rolling!"
Since she had answered her own question Mr. De Jarnette apparently did not consider it necessary to do so. She looked at her watch and moved across the room.