‘I don’t know—some kind of fever, I think. Several children in the town are ill with it.’ ‘Is it safe for you to go amongst them so constantly as you do, Ange?’ ‘Why?’ ‘The fever may be infectious—you might catch it yourself.’ ‘What then, Hilda? One can die but once, you know, and I often think those who die are much better off than those who are left in this world.’ ‘Perhaps so, but you are too young to believe it. You have all your life before you, child, and should look forward to a sunny one. Why, what has come to my light-hearted laughing Ange this afternoon?’ ‘I have a headache,’ she repeated wearily. I let her rest in peace then, though I could not help stealing an occasional glance at the marvellously pretty face that was pillowed on my knee. Was it my fancy, or had a look of greater age really come over Ange’s childlike features during the last few weeks? I thought her nose seemed longer and thinner than before, and that her brows were not quite so smooth and open as they had been. But it must have been my fancy, or the appearance was merely evanescent. No storm, domestic or otherwise, had occurred to ruffle the even tenor of her life. The unusual look of care must have been the effect of the headache only. It was she who broke the silence between us. ‘Hilda, are you going to marry Mr. Sandilands?’ ‘Marry Charlie Sandilands? certainly _not_, my dear Ange. Whatever can have put such an idea into your head?’ ‘Miss Markham said you were engaged to him.’ ‘What rubbish! Pray don’t put faith in anything that woman tells you. She has no authority for her assertions. I am not going to marry anybody, Ange; rest sure of that.’ I was vexed at this retailed piece of scandal, nevertheless; though what else could I have expected at the hands of a set of chattering old women, who had seen me walking out every afternoon with the same gentleman? ‘I suppose I have no right to be angry,’ I continued; ‘but it is always vexatious to be talked about. I have known Charlie Sandilands for years, Ange. He is younger than I am, and I look upon him as a brother. Don’t let any one connect our names together again in your presence, will you?’ ‘No, I will not, Hilda. But I thought Mr. Charteris would be sure to know.’ ‘You said Sophy Markham had been your informant.’ ‘So she was, but when I repeated it to Mr. Charteris, he said nothing was more likely.’ ‘Mr. Charteris ought to know me better,’ I returned, with ridiculous heat, considering that I had not condescended to inform that gentleman of any of my private affairs. It seemed hopeless to engage in conversation that afternoon. Every subject we started came to a dead-lock, and I returned to my novel with an impatient sigh. Presently Madame Marmoret’s harsh voice rung out across the courtyard in expostulation with some one unseen. ‘_Eh bien!_ you are there again, pig! Have you come to bring me what I asked for?’ ‘Madame sweetly singing, as usual!’ I remarked, as the tones reached us.