"I take it," began the doctor lowly, "that a contagious disease, if it became known among your guests, would create a good deal of disturbance?"
"Disturbance! Good heavens, man, it would ruin my business for the whole season!" exclaimed the astounded manager.
"I am sorry, but this young lady's companion has been stricken with smallpox—"
The manager fell back against his desk, his jaw fallen. Susan turned as white as the marble top.
"The only way to avoid trouble is to have her conveyed immediately to some place where she can be treated properly. Not a word to any one now; absolute secrecy or a panic."
The manager was glad enough to agree.
"She is not dangerous at present, but it is only a matter of a few hours when the disease will become virulent. If you will place a porter before Miss Hargreave's door till I make arrangements to take her away, that will simplify matters."
Smallpox! Susan wandered aimlessly about, half out of her mind with terror. There was no help against such a dreaded disease. Her Florence, her pretty rosy-cheeked Florence, disfigured for life....!
"Miss Susan, where is Florence?"
"Oh, Mr. Norton!" she gasped.