She demurred. "Is there any danger, Arthur?"
"Danger of what, mother?"
"You certainly understood me," she said half angrily; "danger of contagion, of course."
"None for you, surely, mother, and none you could carry home unless you came in personal contact with the sick children."
"I shall sit here for a moment, then," she said, stepping from the carriage and taking a chair upon the veranda. "How are they to-day?"
"The sick little ones? The disease has not yet reached its crisis."
"I hope they'll get safely over it: it's a good thing to have over. How soon can you be spared from here, Arthur?"
"Now, mother, if I am needed elsewhere, I shall not be needed here—at least am not likely to be—for some hours."
"Then I wish you'd come home directly to see what you can do for your grandfather. He doesn't seem at all well to-day."
"My father ill?" Mr. Dinsmore exclaimed in a tone of alarm and concern.