But the influenza it proved to be. Miss Preen seemed about to have it badly, and lay in bed the next day. Nancy proposed to send Flore for Monsieur Dupuis, but Lavinia said she knew how to treat herself as well as he could treat her.
The next day she was no better. Poor Nancy had to go out alone, or to stay indoors. She did not like doing the latter at all; it was too dull; her own inclination would have led her abroad all day long and every day.
“I saw Captain Fennel on the pier again,” said she to her sister that afternoon, when she was making the tea at Lavinia’s bedside, Flore having carried up the tray.
“I hope you did not talk to him, Ann,” spoke the invalid, as well as she could articulate.
“I talked a little,” said Nancy, turning hot, conscious that she had gossiped with him for three-quarters-of-an-hour. “He stopped to speak to me; I could not walk on rudely.”
“Any way, don’t talk to him again, my dear. I do not like that man.”
“What is there to dislike in him, Lavinia?”
“That I can’t say. His countenance is not a good one; it is shifty and deceitful. He is a man you could never trust.”
“I’m sure I’ve heard you say the same of other people.”