"Oh, I have a little cold," she answered.
I drew a chair to the bedside, laid my hand on her wrist, and watched her closely as I questioned her—cough incessant; respiration rapid; temperature high, I judged; pulse 120.
"How long have you had this cold?" I asked.
"About a week," she said. "It makes me ache all over, you know, and that is why I am in bed to-day."
I saw at once that she was seriously ill, and I also saw that she was bearing up bravely, and making as little of it as possible.
"Why isn't your fire lit?" I asked.
"Oh, I never thought of having one," she answered.
"And what is that you are drinking?"
"Cold water."
"Well, you mustn't drink any more cold water, or anything else cold until I give you leave," I ordered. "And don't try to talk. I will come and see you again by and by."