Feel my hand."
It was a child's answer, sufficiently expressive. An anxious look rose to
her countenance.
"Are you sure your throat is sore?"
"It's very sore. I am so thirsty."
Lady Hartledon gave him some weak tea, and sent for Mr. Brook to come
round as soon as possible. At breakfast she met the dowager, who had
been out the previous evening during the powder episode. Lady Hartledon
mentioned to her husband that she had sent a message to the doctor, not
much liking Edward's symptoms.
"What's the matter with him?" asked the dowager, quickly. "What are his
symptoms?"
"Nay, I may be wrong," said Lady Hartledon, with a smile. "I won't infect
you with my fears, when there may be no reason for them."
The countess-dowager caught at the one word, and applied it in a manner
never anticipated. She was the same foolish old woman she had ever been;
indeed, her dread of catching any disorder had only grown with the years.
And it happened, unfortunately for her peace, that the disorder which
leaves its cruel traces on the most beautiful face was just then
prevalent in London. Of all maladies the human frame is subject to,
the vain old creature most dreaded that one. She rose up from her seat;
her face turned pale, and her teeth began to chatter.
"It's small-pox! If I have a horror of one thing more than another, it's
that dreadful, disfiguring malady.
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