Diana had stood up very unsteadily; then she sat down again, putting her hands to her head.
“I’m—I’m awful sick,” she said, a little thickly. “I—I—must go right home.”
“Oh, you mustn’t dream of going home without your tea,” cried Anne in distress. “I’ll get it right off—I’ll go and put the tea down this very minute.”
“I must go home,” repeated Diana, stupidly but determinedly.
“Let me get you a lunch anyhow,” implored Anne. “Let me give you a bit of fruit cake and some of the cherry preserves. Lie down on the sofa for a little while and you’ll be better. Where do you feel bad?”
“I must go home,” said Diana, and that was all she would say. In vain Anne pleaded.
“I never heard of company going home without tea,” she mourned. “Oh, Diana, do you suppose that it’s possible you’re really taking the smallpox? If you are I’ll go and nurse you, you can depend on that. I’ll never forsake you. But I do wish you’d stay till after tea. Where do you feel bad?”
“I’m awful dizzy,” said Diana.