Dr. Heriot shook his head, but he did not directly forbid the experiment. He knew that to a person of Mildred's active habits, anything approaching to indolence was a positive crime; it was better for them both that she should assert that she was well, and that he should be free to relax his vigilance; he could still watch over her, and interfere when it became necessary to do so.
Mildred had reason to be thankful that he did not oppose her exertions, for before long fresh work came to her.
The very morning after Dr. Heriot had withdrawn his silent protest, a letter in a strange handwriting was laid beside Mildred's breakfast-plate; the postmark was London, and she opened it in some little surprise; but Polly, who was watching her, noticed that she turned pale over the contents.
'Is it about Roy?' she whispered; and Mildred started.
'Yes, he has been ill,' and she looked at her brother doubtfully; but he stretched out his hand for the letter, and read it in silence.
Polly watched them anxiously.
'He is not very ill, Aunt Milly?'
'Not now; but I greatly fear he has been so. Mrs. Madison writes that it was a neglected cold, with a sharp attack of inflammation, but that the inflammation has subsided; he is terribly weak, and needs nursing, and the doctor insists that his friends should be informed.'
'But Dad Fabian is with him?'
'No, he is quite alone. The strangest part is that he would not suffer her to write to us. I suppose he dreaded our alarm.'