“I am Phyllis Harringay,” answered Phyllis stoutly. “And,” she added, “I am very sorry to hear that Ralph is ill. Please, may I come and sit with him, and tell him funny stories, and amuse him; and may I see Susie? I am so fond of them both, and of Rosie too. Oh, please, please let me!”
Mrs Hilchester fairly gasped.
“Two days ago,” she said, “you would not have come here. Two days ago you invited my children to go to you, and then sent a note telling them not to come. Two days ago your governess was here—a most offensive person—and now, now you come. Do you think we want you here? Go away at once—at once—and get your nurse to change your things, and— Here, I will write her a note. Go out, child, and stand in the open air. Oh, this is too distracting!” Mrs Hilchester disappeared into her little sitting-room. There she wrote a few lines, folded them up, sprayed them with a sanitas spray which stood near, and put them into an envelope. She gave the envelope to Phyllis.
“Take that back with you,” she said, “and do not come near the place for the present.”
“But I am so sorry,” said poor little Phyllis, and her bright eyes filled with tears.
“There, dear, there; I know you mean all right. But go now, for Heaven’s sake!—Rosie, my dear, come with me.”
Phyllis and Rosie looked longingly one at the other for the world of things they could talk about, for the world of sympathy each could have shown to the other; but for a reason unknown to either little girl, it was dangerous for them to meet. Phyllis walked very sadly back to her own home; her mother took Rosie into the parlour.
“You and Ned are going to your uncle Joe’s as soon as ever your father can take you,” she said. “If you are at all ill, or you have the slightest headache, you are to be sent back here; but there is just a possibility that you may escape. And now, my dear little girl, don’t go upstairs, and don’t talk to any one as you have just spoken to poor little Miss Harringay. You were very imprudent. Did I not tell you that you were not to speak to any other child?”
“But, oh, Mother! she looked so sweet, and she did promise the rocking-horse, and the baby-house, and—and I could not help myself, Mother, I could not really.”
“Well, don’t cry, child. Sit down and eat your breakfast. God help us all, I only trust you have escaped infection, and that she, poor little girl! has not received it from you.”