I'm looking forward to the trip so much!" she said.
"Shall we dine here? You'll have to feed me, I'm afraid." She laughed; but
a slow flush crept up to Nick's forehead.
"Would you let me?"
"Yes. Why not? If you don't mind. Anything rather than miss our
train--unless some horrid symptoms are coming on that you haven't the
courage to tell me about. Ring for dinner, Kate. And you can go and have
yours. We'll do everything exactly as if we expected to start."
"Sure, ma'am, don't make me leave the room till I've heard what Mr.
Hilliard has to say. I'm that worried till I know the worst," Kate
pleaded.
Angela smiled. "I'm just beginning to learn," she said, "that it's a
mistake to think of the _worst_. I used to make a point of doing it, and
it generally happened. Now--I expect the best!" She spoke to Kate, and
looked at Nick. "But tell me what poison-oak can do."
Nick shivered. For an instant, a picture of that adored young face
hideously disfigured turned him sick. And even her little white hands--no,
it did not bear thinking of! But he controlled himself and tried to speak
coolly.
"Why, it affects some people so their faces and hands swell up, and--and
get red and spotted. Of course, that doesn't last many days: but--it isn't
nice while it does last, and I--couldn't bear the thought of its happening
to you.
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