"Do you mean to say that you have not been up to see what is the matter
with her?" asked Geoffrey.
"No, not yet," answered his wife. "I have had the dressmaker here with
my new dress for the duchess's ball to-morrow; it's lovely, but I think
that there is a little too much of that creamy lace about it."
With an exclamation of impatience, Geoffrey rose and went upstairs. He
found Effie tossing about in bed, her face flushed, her eyes wide open,
and her little hands quite hot.
"Send for the doctor at once," he said.
The doctor came and examined the child, asking her if she had wet her
feet lately.
"Yes, I did, two days ago. I wet my feet in a puddle in the street," she
answered. "But Anne did say that they would soon get dry, if I held
them to the fire, because my other boots was not clean. Oh, my head does
ache, daddie."
"Ah," said the doctor, and then covering the child up, took Geoffrey
aside and told him that his daughter had a mild attack of inflammation
of the lungs. There was no cause for anxiety, only she must be looked
after and guarded from chills.
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