“There is no choice,” said Jeannie. “I must help if I can, and I am sure you see that. But what about the baby? Shall we send it away? No doubt it is stupid of me, but I think I should be happier if it was not here.” “It shall go this afternoon,” said Miss Fortescue. “We will telegraph to Jack Collingwood.” “Don’t alarm him,” said Jeannie, and stopped abruptly. Miss Fortescue devoted several seconds to the consideration of this remark, and then smiled on the side of her mouth away from Jeannie. “How could he be alarmed?” she asked. “I shall say, of course, what Dr. Maitland said, that typhoid is unknown in babies.” “Yes, that will be all right,” said Jeannie, rather absently. “But don’t make the outbreak too serious.” And her enigmatic aunt smiled again. Arthur had got in to lunch when they got back. He, too, had heard the news about the typhoid. “They told me you had both gone to the hospital,” he said. “What do they say there? Is it very serious?” “Yes,” said Miss Fortescue. “The baby goes to Jack Collingwood this afternoon. Not that there is the least risk, but Jeannie is foolish. She and I are going to help in nursing.” He had not expected anything else, for he knew Jeannie. Aveshams were not demonstrative, and he only looked at her quietly a moment. “I supposed you would,” he said. “I suppose it is right. Is there much risk?” “Ordinary risk,” said Jeannie. “Dr. Maitland allowed it.” “Yes, one wants to be of some use in such cases,” said Arthur. “I hear the state of things in the lower part of the town is awful. The brewery stops working to-day; there are over twenty men down with it. I wonder if I could help?” “No, Arthur, you mustn’t,” said Jeannie, quickly. “I wish you would go away. Go up to Mr. Collingwood’s with the baby for a week or two. Dr. Maitland said that for younger people the risk was greater.” “Then we will ask him whether a man of twenty-three is much more liable to infection than a girl of twenty-four,” he said. “It sounds highly probable. Let’s come in to lunch. I am famished.” Miss Fortescue went upstairs to tell nurse to pack and be ready to start in the afternoon, and write a telegram to Jack Collingwood; and having written it she paused for a moment, looking out of her window. “It is a fine breed,” she said, “and it is not in my heart to stop either of them. They will walk into the wards and feverful houses as if they were going out to tea.”