I sat down at the luncheon-table, but I could not eat anything. Noonday had turned to darkness because Fay was ill. "She didn't seem ill a few days ago, when she went for a walk with me," I persisted; "she had only a little cough."
"It was a nasty cough, Reggie, a very nasty cough. I wonder that you took her for a walk with it."
An agony of remorse overwhelmed my soul. What a fool I had been! What a fool I always was! Whatever I did invariably turned out to be wrong. "I shall never forgive myself for doing so," I groaned; "I deserve to be shot for such crazy idiocy and selfishness. But she said she was all right, and I was ass enough to believe her."
Annabel, as usual, stood between me and the consequences of my folly. "It wasn't your fault, Reggie: the girl is old enough to take care of herself. I really don't see how a bachelor of forty-two can be expected to watch all the symptoms of a young girl's cold. You aren't a nurse."
But I refused to be comforted. "I was a fool—as I am always, a selfish, incompetent fool! I wanted her to go for a walk with me, and it never occurred to me to doubt that she wanted it too. But Fay is so unselfish, she would never think of herself where anybody else's pleasure was concerned."
"I don't think it was unselfishness on her part, Reggie; it was simply youthful recklessness. Young people are always so careless about their health, and if you try to consider them it only makes them worse. I remember once, years ago, going for a round of calls and ringing all the bells myself, because the footman had such a bad cold I didn't think he ought to ride on the box of the carriage, and when I got home I found he'd spent the afternoon at a football match!"
"Why didn't you tell me as soon as I got home last night?"
"Because I didn't know. I went to the Rectory this morning about some parish affairs, and then Arthur told me. He has sent for Frank to come from Oxford, and they are both in a terrible state about Fay. It was really sad to see Frank. What an affectionate nature that boy has! I do feel for him. It is wretched for him to have his sister so ill."
"It is far more wretched for her," I said shortly.
"I don't know about that," replied Annabel, as if in a way she blamed Fay for causing Frank this mental discomfort. My sister was one of those women who would always sacrifice a woman to a man. Her philosophy of life consisted in the theory that women must work, and men must never on any account be allowed to weep. If they were, the women were in some way to blame.