Her temperature was a hundred and two.
“You’d better go to bed,” said Alvina. “Have you eaten anything?”
“One little mouthful,” said Madame plaintively.
Max sat looking pale and stricken, Louis had hurried forward to take Madame’s hand. He kissed it quickly, then turned aside his head because of the tears in his eyes. Geoffrey gulped beer in large throatfuls, and Ciccio, with his head bent, was watching from under his eyebrows.
“I’ll run round for the doctor—” said Alvina.
“Don’t! Don’t do that, my dear! Don’t you go and do that! I’m likely to a temperature—”
“Liable to a temperature,” murmured Louis pathetically.
“I’ll go to bed,” said Madame, obediently rising.
“Wait a bit. I’ll see if there’s a fire in the bedroom,” said Alvina.
“Oh, my dear, you are too good. Open the door for her, Ciccio—”