“Nothing much.”
“I hope you have not told him that my temperature has gone up.”
“No.”
“Of course he asked?”
“Of course.”
It is with the weight of this falsehood upon her soul that Lavinia returns to her charge. It does not sit very heavily, and is probably not a falsehood at all, since all the inquiries in question have, no doubt, been addressed to Nurse Blandy or Mrs. Prince, before her own appearance on the scene. And whether because a little of the former awkwardness makes him glad of a topic ready to his hand, or that his conscience smites him with an earlier negligence, he really does put the orthodox query this time.
“Well, how is she?”
Lavinia shakes her head. “Poor thing! I am afraid her overhaste to be well will very much retard her cure. You had better take warning by her!”
There is a pretty admonishment in her voice, and in the face, which is gentled beyond its never ungentle wont by a diminution of colour. He rolls his head about on the pillow.
“Am I in such overhaste to be well? Or do I only pretend it?”