“My dear Dumps,—I cannot write as much as I would to-day, for I am sorry to say your father is not quite himself.”
I started. There seemed to come a little prick at my heart—not a very big prick, just a momentary sense of uneasiness.
“He has a severe chill—not an ordinary cold—and he is in bed.”
The Professor in bed! I laid down my letter and looked up at Hermione with startled eyes.
“What is it?” she said.
“Father is in bed,” I replied.
“Good gracious, how you made me jump! And why shouldn’t he be in bed?”
“You don’t understand. Why, I never remember his staying in bed. He is never ill, except with those fearful headaches.”
“He hadn’t a good, careful woman like Grace Donnithorne to look after him in the past,” replied Hermione in an indifferent tone. “For goodness’ sake don’t be anxious!”
Just at this moment the door opened and Augusta entered.