“Fever? Nonsense! I’m perfectly all right. There’s nothing the matter with me at all, and I am going to get up!” Flushed and unsteady, he stared at her defiantly, prepared to throw off the clothes and jump out of bed. Then remembered with horror that he was attired in one of Regina’s ample and unpoetic nightrobes, and inhibited the impulse with a groan.
Repressing her amusement, Anne approached and took his wrist in cool, silken fingers. “I’m going to take your temperature, and if you have any fever, I shall send for a doctor at once,” she announced composedly.
Horror stalked across the young face.
“No, no, you mustn’t do that!” he exclaimed. “Nobody must see me, nobody must know where I am! I’ll do anything you want, if only you won’t send for a doctor, or let anyone know I am here!”
His feverish clasp about her hands, Anne encountered his imploring look with gravity.
“Very well, I have your promise. I don’t know just how much it is worth, of course, it is up to you to show me. Now lie down again, and be a good patient while I get the thermometer and change my dress.”
Head obediently on the pillow, his eyes rested upon her wistfully as she moved toward the door.
“Must you change, you look so beautiful like that,” he said simply. “Your lines are so flowing, so fluid, like music. A Débussy prelude.”
Her hand on the knob, she laughed a little tremulously.
“Your temperature must be even higher than I feared,” she said lightly; looking at him rather shyly over her shoulder, she left the room.