“Yes,” echoed Chrissie, and even this seemed to cheer their mother. “I’m not afraid of the fever,” said Leila, in a strange voice.
“But it would add to all our distress if you did get it,” said Mrs Fortescue, smiling, though sadly enough.
“The unselfish thing is to go, and to be very, very good and thoughtful.”
She turned to leave the room.
“Mumsey,” cried Chrissie, and she made a sort of dart forward, but her voice was husky, and her mother did not hear or see her, and she stopped short.
“What were you going to say to her?” questioned Leila gloomily.
“You know,” was the reply.
“What good would it do?” said Leila. “It can’t be undone—and perhaps he didn’t get it that day. It’s so long ago.”
“It’s always like that,” said Chrissie. “I remember about Miss Earle. She had to stay away once for three weeks to see if she didn’t get it, after her sister had had it. Leila,” she went on, “you said you weren’t afraid of it. I am—awfully.”
Leila looked at her in surprise.