"What did he say?" she asked, without looking around.
"Oh, he was very reasonable," Mrs. Fairfield answered, seizing the camphor-bottle from the bureau, "very, indeed. He said it was wrong in him to have come under such circumstances, and he would not come again until the danger was over. Roger always was so sensible."
Tears rolled from the girl's eyes down over her blue cashmere wrapper, and she bit her lips to keep back the sobs which threatened to break out.
"Hannah says three more cases were reported to-night," said her mother, re-entering, after a short absence.
An exclamation escaped the girl's lips, and she wrung her fingers nervously.
"We'd better go, hadn't we?" said Mrs. Fairfield.
"No!" cried the girl. "Yes! Oh, I don't know! I don't know!" and she threw herself upon the bed, crying hysterically.
The evil news being corroborated by the milkman next morning, led to another conference between mother and daughter, the result of which was that the following notes awaited Dr. Horton on his return from an exhausting day's work:
"My Dearest Roger: Do not be too much hurt or shocked to hear that mother and I have left town on the 3.30 train. We think it best. It is hard, of course; but the separation will be easier than if we were in the same place. I assure you, dear Roger, it pains me to go, dreadfully; but I cannot bear such a strain upon my nerves. Do, dearest, take care of yourself—though, of course, you won't take the disease. Doctors never do, I believe. I don't see why, I'm sure.
"Oh, how I wish you had settled in Boston, or some large place, where your practice would have been among first-class people only. Those low mill people are always breaking out with some horrid thing or other. It is too bad. We are going to stay with Aunt Kitty, in Boston. She has been wanting me to spend the winter with her. She is very gay, but of course, dearest, I shall have no interest in anything. Of course you will write.