“And I don’t want to go out, really,” said Nancy, looking full at Miss Roy as she spoke.
The two girls left the room and went upstairs.
The moment they got to her room Augusta said, “Lock the door, Nancy; lock it, and come over close to me. Take my hands in yours. Feel how cold I am. Feel how I tremble.”
“Yes—yes; I know,” said Nancy.
“And you know also about my terror—my scare?”
“Yes; I think so. But, Gussie, were you there last night?”
“Yes; in the house—the very house. I saw Flora, and Flora had slept in the room with Connie the night before; and they said I ought not to have come in, but I went. Oh! I am sure I am infected, and if I get it I shall die. Oh Nan! I am sick with terror—sick with terror.”
“You must tell,” said Nancy. “You must tell Uncle Peter and Miss Roy at once. I know they will forgive you and be sorry for you; but, Augusta, you must tell.”
“Tell!” said Augusta. “You little horror, if you let it out, I don’t know what I shall not do to you. Of course I won’t tell; why should I? Tell! Why, that would mean no Paris, no Royal Cross. It would mean disgrace; it would mean ruin. I am never going to tell.”
“But suppose you get smallpox.”