“A letter for you,” said Hermione.
She glanced at me as she spoke, and her eyes evidently implored me to keep my news to myself. But Augusta had seen my face.
“Is anything wrong?”
“Nothing—nothing,” said Hermione, with impatience. “For goodness’ sake don’t worry her, Augusta; she has not quite got over her cold. Fancy any girl being nervous because her father is in bed for a day or two!”
“The Professor ill?” said Augusta.
“Oh no,” I answered.
Her tone was like a tonic to me. If she was anxious, surely I needn’t be.
“That is,” I continued, glancing down at my step-mother’s letter, “he is not very well, that’s all.”
“I knew he was too good,” said Augusta.
She took up her letter and walked out of the room, slamming the door after her.