“A—a sort of shrinking feeling?”
“Oh! a sinking feeling. No doubt the stomach is out of order. She has taken something that disagreed with her.”
“I feel sure she has.”
“But if there is nothing more serious than this feeling of sinking, she will probably be able to come down to dinner. Meals in the bedrooms you know are such a trouble to the servants.”
“I don’t think she can come down. She is far too ill. She won’t take any dinner. Just a glass of milk.”
“But, Miss Prudence, I fear she must really have some other symptoms that you are keeping back from me. Do pray tell me frankly what else you see amiss with her.”
“Well,” said the badgered Prudence, “I have noticed a—a—a sort of childishness about her.”
“Good Heavens! You don’t say so! She is not—not delirious? Not wandering in her mind, is she?”
“No, no. She is very silent—on the contrary—has not spoken to me at all.”
“But you said she was childish.”