As soon as she had drunk her chocolate, Emily betook herself to the nursery to see what were the prospects for the party.
“Well, dear cousin,” she began, making no attempt to lower her somewhat harsh voice, “what is this I hear? Is little Jan ill?”
“I am very much afraid he is,” said Jo; “he is so restless in his sleep.”
“A little feverish, perhaps,” said Emily, taking the child’s hand in her own for a moment. “I’d give him a good dose of quinine,” she continued, “and he’ll be all right by to-morrow evening.”
“Why to-morrow evening,” asked Jo, puzzled.
“Did I ever! Have you forgotten all about that? Why, it was to-morrow evening we were to have that party.”
“Dear me, so it was,” cried Jo. “I’d nearly forgotten all about it. But, of course, if he is ill it will have to be put off.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” said Emily, “if he is ill. But it’s surely nothing serious. You always get frightened so quickly.”
“Yes, I do, it is true; and it really can’t be anything. But oh, Emily, he is such an angel, my Njo! and you always see that particularly sweet children don’t live long.”
The wet eyelashes and quivering lips were not without their effect even on cold Mrs Martendijk.