“Jilian!”
“You look very feverish. No, please do not come too near me.”
“Am I so terrible to look at?”
“Oh, Richard, I am sure I am about to faint.”
Jeffray had grown pale of a sudden. Was there anything prophetic in Miss Hardacre’s words, or was it his own fancy that made him feel chilly about the heart? He drew away from his betrothed, put his hand to his forehead, and felt that it was hot and moist.
He glanced at Jilian, who was walking unsteadily with her eyes half closed, the spaniels still yapping at her heels.
“Certainly I feel feverish,” he confessed; “shall I give you my arm, Jilian? No. Perhaps I had better keep away from you.”
Miss Hardacre’s face had gone an ashy yellow behind the blushes that still bloomed upon her cheeks.
“Richard,” she said, “go home at once and send for Surgeon Stott, from Rookhurst. It is not safe for you to remain near me.”
Jeffray was gazing at her searchingly, wondering how much she loved him since her first thoughts seemed for herself.