The agony she was enduring made her really feverish, for distress of mind is often far harder to bear than pain of body. She had gained all she wanted--popularity at school, a complete hold upon Mabel's affection, and a permanent invitation to a house where it was an honour to be received as a guest. And now, must all this be lost? The friendship had grown so necessary to her that she felt she could not live without it, and the prospect of estrangement and cold looks was appalling. At any cost she must manage to avoid this fatal expedition to Evington. She would sham illness, and ask to remain in her bedroom, so that they could not possibly include her in the party. To be sure, she would miss everything that was going on; but that was nothing, in comparison with the horror of an introduction to "Cousin Marion". "If she comes over here, and asks to see me, I must have something infectious!" thought Aldred. "I wonder if I could rub anything on me to bring out a rash? Nettles might do it, only I can't go out to pick them. Was any wretched girl ever in such a desperate strait?" She had had so little experience of ill health that it was rather difficult for her to feign symptoms. She had mentioned biliousness to Mabel on the spur of the moment, as it was the first idea that came into her head; but she had rarely suffered from an attack. She remembered, however, that it included a bad headache, and a disinclination to consume anything except soda water and biscuits. "I shan't dare to touch proper meals, no matter how hungry I am," she reflected. "I expect I shall be nearly starving before to-morrow is over. I wish now I had said I had a sore throat, and then perhaps they would have been afraid of influenza, and have isolated me at once. Oh, dear! Mabel's tennis party is to be this afternoon, and I shall have to stop here and lose all the fun. Francis Farrington asked me to be his partner, and he plays so well that I'm sure we should have beaten all the others!" She was shedding hot, bitter tears, not so much of regret for the long months of deception as of chagrin for the pleasure she must needs forgo. She was sorry, indeed, for the course she had taken, but it was not real repentance, only a wish to escape disagreeable consequences. Aldred had much to learn yet before she could set the desire for right above the love of approbation, or practise truth for its own sake. When Lady Muriel and Mabel came to see her, about one o'clock, they found her with red eyes, a flushed face, and a genuine headache. "You must lie still," said Lady Muriel, after feeling her hot hands. "You seem quite feverish, and mustn't on any account try to get up and race about at tennis; it would be the worst thing possible for you. I'm so grieved about it, dear!" "It's most disappointing!" echoed Mabel. "I should like to stay and spend the afternoon with you, only it would be so rude to the other visitors. Perhaps I can keep running in between the sets."