Now racked with fever, now shivering with a chill, the tortured little body shook convulsively or lay in a death-like stupor.
Once, when Kit Cameron was downstairs, they heard Patty shriek out about the fortune.
“Oh,” said Kit, awestruck; “can she mean that fortune-telling business we had? Don’t you remember I told her she’d inherit a fortune. Of course, I was only joking. Fortune-tellers always predict a legacy. I hope that hasn’t worried her.”
“No,” said Nan, shaking her head, “it isn’t that. She’s been worrying about that fortune ever since she’s been flighty. I know what she means. Never mind it.”
Glad that it was not an unfortunate result of his practical joke, Kit dropped the subject.
“I want her to get well so terribly,” he went on. “I just can’t have it otherwise. I’ve always cherished a sort of forlorn hope that I could win her yet. Do you think I’ve a chance, Mrs. Nan?”
“When we get her well again, we’ll see,” and Nan tried to speak cheerfully. “But it’s awfully nice of you boys to come round so often. You cheer us up a good deal. Mr. Fairfield is not very hopeful. You see Patty’s mother died so young, and Patty is very like her, delicate, fragile, though almost never really ill. And here comes another of my boys.”
Nan always called Patty’s friends her boys; and they all liked the pleasant, lively young matron, and affectionately called her Mrs. Nan.
This time it was Chick Channing, and he came to inquire after Patty, and also to bring the sad news that Mrs. Van Reypen was dead.
Though not entirely unexpected, for the old lady had been very ill, it was a shock, and cast a deeper gloom over the household.