Nessa was astonished at the faces of dismay with which the children received the information.
"Are you sure?" Rosie ventured to ask. "Are you sure he won't be able to get out for several days?"
"Well, I really can't tell you that, Miss Rose," replied the doctor. "But he's not very bad,—not very bad."
"Would you like to go round by the Red House, and inquire there how he is?" Nessa suggested, feeling quite sorry for the children's needless anxiety.
Murtagh felt doubtful of the utility of that proceeding, but a nudge from Winnie, and an expressive glance from Rosie, made him accept the proposal. Winnie had conceived the bold design of seeing Mr. Plunkett in his own house, and of asking him without more delay; but, arrived at the Red House, she found that her hopes were vain.
"Mr. Plunkett was in his own room," Mrs. Plunkett said, "and did not know when he expected to leave it."
"Mightn't we go up and see him?" suggested Winnie, undauntedly, but Mrs. Plunkett answered in horror: "My dear Winnie, I wouldn't let one of you inside his room for anything in the world. Why, he won't even have one of his own children in except Marion, and she's more like a mouse than a child."
They drove away feeling more than ever puzzled as to what was to be done. Poor Theresa! They scarcely dared to think of going up to her with the news that she must wait again, till they did not know when.
Their heads were so full of Theresa's troubles that dinner was torment to them. They could not eat; they were longing for the meal to be finished in order that they might get away and consult together. What, therefore, was their confusion, when Nessa innocently suggested that they should pay a visit to the poor woman whose little girl had been lost.
"Uncle Blair said it would be kind of us," she said.