“Truly,” she assured Mrs. Allen, “I had no reason for crying. Alfred was rather slower than usual at his sums, but he was perfectly good, poor little fellow. I may have been a little tired by that, however; it is the only thing I can think of. Only”—and she hesitated.
“Only what, my dear?” urged Mrs. Allen.
Marion looked up at the kind, motherly face. Its expression invited confidence.
“Don’t tell anyone what I am going to say, dear Mrs. Allen,” said she, laying her hand appealingly on her friend’s arm. I cannot help feeling it would be a relief to tell some-body. Do you know I am afraid I am getting ill. Sometimes I feel as if I must really be going to die. I am so dreadfully weak, and every day I feel more so. It is making the very miserable, for I don’t know how Geoffrey could live without me. And my falling ill would be such a fearful aggravation of all his troubles.”
She looked as if she were ready to burst out crying again. Mrs. Allen made her finish her wine, and then said very kindly,
“I don’t think you are going to die, dear Mrs. Baldwin, but I certainly think you must take more care of yourself, for I am sure you need it. You are very young and inexperienced, my dear. I should like you to see a doctor.”
“I don’t think it would be any use,” said Marion, sadly. “Besides,” she added, her face flushing, “doctors are so expensive, and my seeing one would alarm Geoffrey so. Of all things I wish to avoid doing so till I am obliged. I may get round again gradually, when the weather is better.”
“No, my dear,” persisted Mrs. Allen. “It does not do to trust to ‘may get wells.’ You must see a doctor. And if you don’t want to alarm your husband, I’ll tell you how we’ll manage it. If you will stay just now to early dinner with me and the boys, whenever it’s over I’ll take you to our own doctor. As nice a man as ever lived. You’ll go with me you know in an easy sort of way. Nothing to pay this time any way. I’ll tell him I brought you, a little against your will, feelin’ anxious about you. If he goes to see you at your own house again that’ll be another affair. To-day you’ll be like as might be my daughter.”
Marion gratefully agreed to the arrangement so thoughtfully proposed, which was accordingly carried out. Nothing could exceed Mrs. Allen’s motherly kindness, and Marion felt not a little thankful for her presence and sympathy, for wholly unexpected and somewhat overwhelming was Dr. Hamley’s solution of her mysterious loss of strength.
Was she sorry or glad? she asked herself, when, set down at her own door by her friend, she had an hour or two’s quiet to think over this little looked-for intelligence, before the usual time for Geoffrey’s return from business.