And that dreadful word was soon abroad in all the house. It was the evening, after dinner, and all who were at home were in the drawing-room. The two schoolboys, Reggie and Jack, had, of course, gone back to school. And the young ones had been talking of their lawn tennis, and So and So’s low service, and somebody’s volleying, and a great deal of other jargon. They had been obliged to dress in a great hurry for dinner, and no one had had the time to run in and ask for Mar. “Typhoid!” they cried, some of them in loud, and some of them in low tones. “Who says so? you are always fancying something dreadful. Does Barker say so? And how did he get it?” said John. “I am sure we have had trouble enough with the drains.” “If one is to have it, one will have it, whatever is done about the drains,” said Mrs. Parke. “But oh, mamma,” said Letty, “why a nurse? I know a great deal about nursing. There were those two ambulance classes. It would be so much nicer for dear Mar to have his own people about him. Sarah would sit up at night, she is very fond of him, and I would take care of him in the day.” Letitia did not take the trouble to reply, but looked at the girl only, crushing her as effectually as by a torrent of words. “He shall have every care,” she said, “and the best that can be got, but he has no constitution, and I fear it will go badly with him. There is no use in deceiving ourselves.” “Don’t be a croaker,” cried John, getting up from his chair. It would have been strange, perhaps, if there had not flashed across the mind of John all that was implied in this evil augury. He was not quick, nor was he more selfish than other men, but into the hearts of the most innocent there is projected by times a picture as from a magic-lantern, showing as it seems from without, not from within, in a sudden glare of diabolical light the advantage which a great misfortune to someone else may bring them. John was as much horrified by this sudden perception as if he had been compassing the end of Mar. He cried out, “Good God!” which was in reality an appeal against the devilish light that had flashed upon him without any will of his; and then his voice melted, and he murmured, “Poor little Mar. Poor little Mar!” “Don’t give in in that way, father,” cried Duke. “Typhoid fever is bad enough, but not so bad as mother makes out. Why, I know half a dozen men who have had it. At Harrow there was one fellow as bad as bad could be, and not strong, just like Mar, and he got round all right. The stronger the fellow the worse it is for him. That’s what all the doctors say.” These words brought a cold chill to Letitia. In her thoughts, by way of forestalling all the disappointments there might happen, she had already thought of this. “Oh, mamma, send for some new book from Mudie’s directly,” said Tiny; “when Mar is ill we can never get enough books to satisfy him.”