"If we are not certain soon, it will be too late to start, and I can't bear to put off going. 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.
"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. I just couldn't bear it! It isn't going to happen, though," he added hastily, seeing the colour leave her lips. "By this time you'd have begun to feel mighty bad, if you were in for trouble. You can't be easy to affect, for if you were, the poison might have gone to your face, without your even touching the leaves. Your hands don't burn, do they?"
"That saved them. If you feel all right in an hour more, you can have the bandages off, and the danger'll be over for good. Then we can start, unless the shock's been too much for you?"
"I'm too bewildered to be shocked," said Angela.
"Who could have played such a horrid practical joke on me? It's a little bit like--in a ridiculous way--the play of _Adrienne Lecouvreur_, where a woman is poisoned by a bouquet of flowers sent by a jealous rival. Only I haven't a jealous rival!"
