The doctor made no reply, but he gave Augusta a somewhat searching look.
“He doesn’t believe me,” thought the girl. “I wonder what he thinks I have been up to. Have I really such a wicked look? For one who means to win the Royal Cross that would never do. That dear, sanctimonious Uncle Peter would scent mischief, and my chances would be over.”
Augusta put on a very mournful expression. The doctor took his leave, assuring her that he would return on the following morning.
“I wish he were a nice, young, handsome doctor,” thought Augusta; “then perhaps I could coax him to keep my secret for me, and to vaccinate me without telling the others. But he is just the most stupid sort—middle-aged and matter-of-fact.”
She lay back on her pillows, feeling exhausted and languid. She had gone through a great deal more than she had any idea of herself on the previous night.
The other girls took turn about to come and sit in her room. Nancy came early in the afternoon. The day was hot and one of the windows was wide open. Nancy sat with her elbows on the window-sill, and now and then she looked out.
Augusta pretended to read a book; she did not care to talk to Nancy. Presently the little girl’s voice sounded in her ear.
“You didn’t really sprain your wrist when you shut the window, did you?” she asked.
“The less you know, Nancy, the better for you.” Augusta answered.
Nancy coloured, and shut her lips. Augusta again took up her book.