Nancy could only stare from him to her mother in speechless consternation, when it developed next day that Alma had the measles beyond a doubt. In the morning Mr. Dixon and the Porterbridges were notified that the Prescotts could not be at their work. The situation was indeed a pretty serious crisis in their career; for their income was reduced at once by something over a hundred dollars a month. This worry, however, was completely dwarfed when, on the third day after Alma had fallen ill, Dr. Bevan announced that he thought it best to send a trained nurse.
Nancy had had about all that she could bear, and without saying another word, rushed off, to bury her face in the sofa cushions, and smother her frantic sobs from her mother's ears. It seemed to her absolutely certain that Alma was going to die, and her mind filled with little forgotten memories, each of which stabbed her with an agonizing pang of misery.
The nurse, a very tall, strong, rosy woman named Miss Tracy, arrived about noon-time and, quickly changing into her stiff white uniform, ordered Mrs. Prescott off to lie down, telling Nancy that there was no need for either of them to worry. Her presence, her brisk, thorough, confident manner, lifted a hundred pounds from their hearts, and for the first time in three days they drew a breath of relief. Mrs. Prescott, who sadly needed sleep, lay down in her own room, and Nancy, who had not been out of the house since Alma had fallen ill, took a book and went out onto the porch to free her mind of worries that seemed to have dulled her thoughts. Everything had become so complicated, it was so utterly impossible to know what was to be done, that she felt as if it were no use worrying, as if something unforeseen would have to happen to solve difficulties that were absolutely beyond their power to solve. And so she merely wondered idly how the nurse's bills and the doctor's bills were to be paid. And finally, the warm air and the whirr of the lawn-mower, and the sleepy hum in the vines, made her drowsy; her eyelids fell, opened, and then closed again.
"Oh, yes, I'm a very great man. I know the King of England intimately," someone who did not look at all like Mr. Arnold, a fat, pompous-looking man with mutton-chop whiskers, who, however, was Mr. Arnold, kept repeating to her; and she kept wondering, "Why did I think he was so nice? Why did I think he was good-looking?"
Then all at once she heard someone coming up the wooden steps of the porch. She sat bolt upright, putting hasty hands to her tumbled, curly hair, and with dazed, sleepy eyes stared at the newcomer with a positively unintelligent expression of amazement. At length she articulated, in an almost reproachful tone:
"I thought you were in Europe. You were in Europe."
"Yes. But one doesn't have to stay in Europe, you know, unless they put you in jail over there, and I always try to avoid that," returned Mr. Arnold pleasantly.
"But you've been there for months," said Nancy, quite aware that she wasn't talking perfectly good sense. And then they both burst out laughing.
"Alma is ill," Nancy told him. "She has measles, and we are in quarantine, so you ought to go away."
He looked at her tired face, where the strain of fear and trouble showed in her pale cheeks and heavy eyes, and then he smiled in his warm, understanding way, and said gently: