“What’s wrong?”
Agatha repeated what she had heard from Harding Powell.
“Oh—” Milly was dumb for an instant while she thought of her sister-in-law. Then she cried aloud:
“If the child dies, it’ll make him ill again?”
“No, Milly, it won’t.”
“It will, I tell you. It’s always been that sort of thing that does it.”
“And supposing there was something that keeps it off?”
“What is there? What is there?”
“I believe there’s something. Would you mind awfully if it wasn’t the place?”
“What do you mean, Agatha?” (There was a faint resentment in Milly’s agonized tone.)