"Oh, no, Paulina!" I exclaimed, shocked by the suggestion. "What can make you think of such a thing?"
"I guess I'm right," she said gloomily. "You know how bad it has been in London."
"Yes; but it is better now," I said. "The epidemic is over. There were only ten cases last week."
"I don't care," she persisted. "I guess I'm one of the next ten. You know it was very bad when first we came to London and father wanted me to be vaccinated, and I would not. I thought I would trust to my luck."
"I feel perfectly sure that you are mistaken," I said, "so pray dismiss that idea from your mind."
"I can't," she said. "It is such a horrible disease to have, and spoils one's appearance so. I don't know what Charlie would do."
"Charlie?" I repeated.
"Oh, my cousin, I mean," she repeated impatiently. "You must have heard me speak of him."
But I never had.
How long it seemed ere there was any sound of movement in the household! When at last I heard a step on the stairs I opened the door and looked out. Miss Cottrell was descending, clad in the short rough skirt and jersey which she donned for hard work in the garden. She loved to toil there for an hour before any one else was astir. She saw me and turned back to ask how Paulina was. She came into the room, looked critically at the sick girl and drew my attention to a rash which was beginning to appear on her face and neck. When she had shaken up the pillows and made the bed more comfortable, which she did in the deft manner of one accustomed to such a task, speaking cheerily to Paulina the while, Miss Cottrell beckoned to me to follow her from the room.