While we had been talking, there had been a slight movement of dispersal, and some of the guests now claimed the attention of the princess, who had certainly given me a disproportionate share of her attention. Soon afterward, we also took our leave, and both madame and myself seemed to have plenty of food for pleasant thought during the short drive home.
The next morning it was found a difficult matter to rouse Feo at the usual time, and her maid expressed the opinion that the child must be ill. I went to see her, and found her pale, sick and languid, possessed of a violent headache and consuming thirst. Somewhat alarmed, I announced my intention of summoning a doctor at once. But to this plan Feo entered very strenuous objections.
“Indeed, Miss Dora, I am not really ill,” she protested. “I shall soon be all right again, and I’ll never, never do it again as long as I live.”
“Do what, child?”
“Oh, that would be telling, and I promised Olaf that I wouldn’t tell.”
“That mischievous little cousin of yours! You have been up to some naughtiness together. Tell me, have you been out and caught a fever, or something of that sort?”
“Oh, dear no, Dora. At least, we caught something, but it isn’t a fever, and we didn’t have to go out for it. Oh, dear, my head!”
“Well, I must just go and see if madame knows what will cure you.”
“Oh, Dora, dear! pray don’t! She would be so vexed. Look here. I’ll tell you all about it, if you’ll promise not to let mother know what is the matter with me.”
“But suppose you should get worse. Madame would blame me then, and serious mischief might result from delay. I really think we must call a doctor in.”