Mrs Hilchester left the room. Rosie sat down close to the fire; she did not like to own it to herself, but her head did ache just a tiny bit, and her throat felt dry, and it hurt her to swallow, and as to eating her breakfast, she could not even think of such a thing. Oh! it would be very dreary at Uncle Joe’s, even though Ned would be with her. She would think all the time of Susie’s burning eyes as she looked at her out of her little bed, and hear her cry for “water, water,” as she, Rosie, had administered it to her at intervals all night; and however hard she tried to shut her ears, she would hear Ralph’s groans in his sickroom close by. Oh, what was the use of going away? Of course, she was not ill, and it would be horrid at Uncle Joe’s; and suppose—suppose Phyllis got ill! But of course she would not. Why should she? If only she might go and stay with Phyllis at the Hall? If only she could find her way to the attic where the rocking-horse and the baby-house were! But, of course, Mother would not agree to that.
“Rosie, wake up,” said her mother; “you are half asleep, dear. Why do you not take your breakfast?”
“I am not hungry, Mother.”
“Does your head ache?”
“Yes, Mother, a little.”
“How is your throat?”
“It only hurts a very little. I am all right, Mother. Is that the cab at the door? Are we to go?”
“Wait a moment, my dear.”
Mrs Hilchester went into the hall. Her husband was waiting to take Ned and Rosie away with him.
“Well,” he said, “are the children ready? I really must be off; there is a wedding at twelve o’clock to-day, and it is some distance to my brother’s.”