“You need not suppose it. He is quite well.”
“We must provide against the worst.”
“The worst, Shone!”
“Oh!” with a shiver, “I do not mean the worst at all—God forbid; but against his catching the fever.”
“Well, what will you do?”
“Do, Shian? There is nothing else to be done but for you to marry me. You see—I do it for the babe’s sake, and because of the infection.”
She was surprised—a little amused.
“And,” put in Shone, a little apologetically, “there are my stockings want mending. But, really, for the child’s sake, I wish it.”
“I suppose, Shone, if the poor little chap were to be taken ill, he’d be removed from here?”
“No doubt of it. The sanitary officer wouldn’t allow it here.”