“It is Pip,” said Kitty. “He is dead. He died when I was out. He must have had a fit or something, for he looks so queer; and nothing could have got at him, for the cage is firmly fastened, and just as I left it. I will never love another rat. I want to go away by myself for a little. Do not talk to me. Oh! I will not make a fuss, but I cannot be very cheerful to-night.”
She went sadly out of the room.
“And Nan, what is wrong with you?” said her governess. “You were not well when we left, and you look worse now.”
“It is my foot,” said Nan. “I said that I had hurt it—don’t you remember? And it has got worse; it hurts very much indeed.”
“Poor little girl! You must let me look at it.”
Nan pulled down her stocking and showed a much-swollen ankle.
“My dear child, this will never do. I must bandage it immediately. You have given yourself quite a nasty sprain; for the next few days you must keep your foot up. Have you been using it much this afternoon?”
“Only a very little.”
“I am afraid I have been to blame,” said Augusta, speaking at this juncture in her most amiable voice. “I did not know that poor little Nan was suffering from a sprained ankle, and asked her to go a few messages for me. I am ever so sorry!”
“But why did you go, Nan? Why did you not tell Augusta?”