“Yes, yes,” she exclaimed. “What shall I do?” and she put her hand to her head and gazed about her helplessly.
“In the first place, you must go to bed immediately.”
“I can’t do that; Mr. Norman will be here in a few hours.”
“Well, I can’t help it. To bed you must go, and from what I hear of that young man he will be as anxious as anybody to have you do what is best for you.”
“But—” she objected.—“There is no ‘but.’ Unless you at once do as I tell you, you will be down with brain fever.”
“Very well, then,” she meekly replied; “I will go to bed.”
“That’s a good girl. You must get a long night’s rest, and if you are better in the morning I will let you see your friend. He’ll wait, you know; I don’t believe he will be in any hurry to leave, do you?” But she only frowned at my attempt at jocularity. I rang the bell and asked the butler to call Mrs. Derwent, to whom I gave full directions as to what I wanted done, and had the satisfaction of seeing May go up-stairs with her mother. I waited till the latter came down again, and then told her as gently as possible that her daughter was on the verge of brain fever, but that I hoped her excellent constitution might still save her from a severe illness.
The next question was, what to do with Norman.
May’s positive belief that he was coming had proved contagious, and I found that we were both expecting him. I thought it would be best for me to meet him at the train, tell him of May’s sudden illness and offer to put him up at our place for the night. Mrs. Derwent, after some hesitation, agreed to this plan. Norman turned up, as I knew he would. He is very quiet, and does not appear surprised either at his sudden invitation or at May’s illness. He also seems to think it quite natural that he should stay in the neighbourhood till she is able to see him. He looks far from well himself, and is evidently worried to death about May. He has been out all the evening, and I suspect him of having been prowling around the Beloved’s house.