I remained silent: in my shock and perplexity.
"Fever seems to be busy this autumn," he remarked, carelessly. "It is in this neighbourhood; it is in Paris; it is in Nulle: and probably in a great many more places."
"But, Mr. Chandos! what am I to do?"
"There is only one thing that you can do—or that Lady Chandos would allow you to do: and that is, stay here. Not another word, Miss Hereford. You can't help yourself, you know," he added, laughing; "and we are happy to have you."
"But the objection that Lady Chandos feels to having any one?"
"Ah well—you will not be a dangerous visitor. If the worst came to the worst, we shall have to enlist you on our side, and make you take a vow of fidelity to Chandos and its interests."
He was speaking in a laughing joking way, so that one could not tell whether his words were jest or earnest. Still they were curious ones.
"That is the situation, young lady. You can't help yourself, you see, if you would. How much money will you have?"
"Oh, sir, none. I do not require it, if I am not to go. I wish—as I am to stay here—I could make myself useful to some one."
"So you can; you can be useful to me. I will constitute you my head-nurse and walking companion. I shall use your shoulder at will until my foot has its free use again. Take care I don't tire you out."