Her fever seemed about the same, neither reducing significantly nor elevating alarmingly. She was a little less fretful in her sleep, perhaps, and her sleep remained unbroken, since no more visitors insisted on seeing her for the rest of the afternoon. Keeping country hours, Clarissa ate her evening meal early and then returned to the sitting room. Aria was awake and slightly confused. “Where are my watercolors?” she asked, looking about the familiar room. “I shan’t be able to draw without them. I want to paint the ha-ha behind the Hall. Will was chasing a fox cub and I especially wanted to paint him.” Disorientation being one of the signs Dr. Lawrence had particularly cautioned her about, Clarissa felt a start of alarm. She seated herself beside the sofa and laid a hand on Aria’s forehead. It was no warmer. “You’ve not been well, my dear. We’ll save the watercolors for later.” “Oh, yes,” Aria agreed, blinking up at her. “How stupid of me!” As she had herself awoken from vivid dreams that lingered, Clarissa could not determine whether this constituted disorientation.
