Jeannie looked at him fixedly for a moment. Then, breaking into a smile:
“You need not be frightened,” she said. “For any one well over forty there is really no risk, even when typhoid is about. And I thought you said it was only the hot weather that had tried your daughter. Well, Mrs. Raymond, I have to be back at the hospital very soon, and I think we had better go and see your daughter at once.”
She turned her back on the Colonel, and followed Mrs. Raymond to a higher story.
“My husband is very careful about infection,” said the latter as they mounted the stairs. “That is so right, is it not? But I did not know he was thinking of going away.”
“He is quite right to be careful of infection,” said Jeannie. “But there is no need for him to go; and, indeed, we do not know if there is any reason yet.”
Maria slept in the same room with one of her sisters, the eldest having the dignity of a room to herself. Jeannie cast one glance at the little haggard, fevered face, and took out her thermometer.
“Put it under your tongue, dear,” she said, “and keep it there till I take it away. Don’t bite it. No, it’s not medicine; it doesn’t taste nasty.”
She glanced at it at the end of half a minute.
“That’s all right,” she said, reassuringly. “How do you feel?”
“Headache,” piped the little feeble voice from the bed.