“About the Asprays?” said Nancy. “No—nothing at all.”
“But I have. Jane has told me that Constance is worse—so bad that they don’t think she can recover. And, oh! if Connie dies, I can’t—I can’t bear it.”
“Oh, but she won’t die! And please—please, Gussie, do bear up. I am sure God will spare Constance.”
“I don’t know. I don’t seem able to believe anything—anything good, I mean, Nancy. But did I tell you that there are cases in the village?”
“Are there?” said Nancy. “But it can’t be true,” she added, “for if there were Miss Roy would have told us.”
“It is true; and I watched the people as they came on the lawn. I watched them on purpose. Gaffer Jones was not there, nor was Mrs. Tilbury, nor any of her family. Some of the Tilburys are down with it, Nancy, and some of the Joneses. And, oh dear! I wish I could get it all out of my head—it is so—so dreadful.”
“I must rush away to dress,” said Nancy. “It is very sad, but we are bound to make ourselves happy to-night, and forget such things.”
She ran off, having quite forgotten about the ice which she had promised to bring to Augusta.
Augusta stood for a long while by the window; then she went downstairs.
The final touches had been given to the long supper-table. Nancy was right; there were pails full of ice under the sideboard.