“Yes,” Mr. Seaton said. “I must do some visiting. Mine is not the only house in trouble to-day.”
And with a last look at Pauly, lying in his cot, he passed out with the doctors from the shadowed Vicarage.
Where the road to the village skirted the Park they met Sydney, alone. She was walking fast, and with her head bent down: she did not see them till they were quite close to her. Then she looked up suddenly, and a quick flush overspread her pale face. She hesitated for a moment: then went forward with outstretched hand.
Hugh found himself taking it and speaking to her as a mere acquaintance.
He had seen the account of the epidemic in the papers, and the Blue-friars had given him permission to volunteer his services. He was glad to have met Sydney to-day, as he should be—very busy—he expected, and there would be no seeing anybody, he believed.
And there he broke off, stammering, as the clear eyes seemed to ask the meaning of this strange manner from her brother Hugh, who had said at their last parting that “he understood.”
There was an awkward silence of full a minute before Sydney recollected herself and asked after Pauly. “Thank you, he is very ill,” said Pauly’s father.
And then Dr. Lorry, whose kind eyes had seen a good deal during Hugh’s rather halting explanation, interposed with professional authority.
“Miss Lisle, my dear young lady, you really must not stand about in the cold; you are looking quite chilled. Take an old man’s advice, walk home as fast as you can, and have a good cup of chocolate or cocoa as soon as you get to the Castle.”