Jane had grown a little pale.
"Oh, all right," she said crossly. "What a fuss!"
She had settled everything in her own mind for taking Maud back that very evening, but after all, one day was as good as another, and if Jim should once begin on the subject of Maud, who could tell what he might ferret out? He might even insist on himself taking Maud back to her supposed mother and baby sister, and then what would happen? And it would be of no use to keep back her sister's address from him, for there was always Tom.
She made Harry get up, and he played listlessly with Maud, or fell asleep on the floor in the midst of the toys; and by evening time even Jane's careless eyes could see that the child was really ill.
Jim saw it too, and he went straight out again and left word at the nearest doctor's house, for the doctor to come at once. But the doctor was a busy man, and it was very late when at last he came and stood looking down on Harry's flushed little face. He asked a good many questions, and then made his examination.
Jim watched him keenly, and somehow his heart sank down and down and down.
"Is he very bad?" he asked at last, huskily.
The doctor turned away from the little bed and looked at the fine, tall young fellow before him.
"I understand he isn't your child?"
Jim shook his head. "He's my dead sister's child, and his father's dead too. He belongs to me now, and I'd do anything for him. He's not very bad, is he, doctor?"