“Fever? Oh, I don’t know much about it.”
“As if fevers were in his way!” ironically cried Charlotte Pain. “He troubles himself no more about fevers than does Lady Godolphin.”
“Than Lady Godolphin would like to do, I suppose you mean, Miss Pain?” he rejoined.
Maria was looking at him wistfully—almost reproachfully. He saw it, and turned to her with a smile. “Has it in truth attacked the cottages down by the Pollards?” she asked.
George nodded. He was not so ignorant as he appeared to be. “Poor Bond had it first; and now two of his children are attacked. I understand Mr. Hastings declares it is a judgment upon the town, for not looking better after the hovels and the drainage.”
“Has Bond recovered?” asked Maria.
“No.”
“Not recovered?” she exclaimed quickly.
“He is dead, Maria.”
She clasped her hands, shocked at the news. “Dead. Leaving that large, helpless family! And Sarah Anne Grame?—is she out of danger?”