“Are you not Miss Harringay?” he said. “Yes; I thought so. Please, do not go up to the Rectory.”
“Why not?” said Phyllis.
“I have just been there, and two of the children are not well. Pray, go home as quickly as possible. May I give you a seat in my carriage? It is rather early for a little girl like yourself to be out.”
“No, thank you,” answered Phyllis, with dignity.
She felt angry with the doctor, who had often seen her on her pony, and had recognised her at once.
What business had he to interfere? And if the children were ill, it was all the more reason why she should go and find out about them.
So she waited until his carriage had turned an angle of the avenue, and then, putting wings to her feet, ran up in the direction of the house. The hall door was wide open. She rang the bell. No one attended to her summons. She heard voices in the distance—the quick voice of Mrs Hilchester as she bustled about. Then a child came down the stairs—a child with a rosy face, and with marks of tears round her eyes. The moment she saw Phyllis she rushed to meet her.
“Oh, Phyl! Phyl!” she exclaimed. “It is Ralph, and he is very ill. We do not know what he has got, we don’t; and the doctor does not know, but he thinks perhaps he has something bad; and Susie is ill too. Oh! her throat is so sore, and the doctor says—”
But what further Rosie would have uttered was fiercely interrupted. Mrs Hilchester came out and stood in the hall.
“Rosie,” she said, “how dare you! Who is this little girl?”