"But you don't think Lotta really ill?" asked Mrs. Sheldon, nervously.
"I trust she is not really ill, dear Mrs. Sheldon; but I am sure she is
much changed. In talking to her, I affect to think that her illness is
only an affair of the nerves; but I sadly fear that it is something more
than that."
"But what is the matter with her?" exclaimed Georgy, with a, piteous air
of perplexity; "that is the question which I am always asking. People
can't be ill, you know, Diana, without having something the matter with
them; and that is what I can't make out in Charlotte's case. Mr. Sheldon
says she wants tone; the physician who came in a carriage and pair, and
ought to know what he is talking about, says there is a lack of vigour.
But what does that all amount to? I'm sure I've wanted tone all my life.
Perhaps there never was a creature so devoid of tone as I am; and the
internal sinking I feel just before luncheon is something that no one but
myself can realize. I dare say Lotta is not so strong as she might be;
but I do not see that she can be ill, unless her illness is something
definite. My poor first husband's illness, now, was the kind of thing
that any one could understand--bilious fever. The merest child knows what
it is to be bilious, and the merest child knows what it is to be
feverish. There can be nothing mysterious in bilious fever."
"But, dear Mrs.
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