“Yes, and she said she supposed there were doctors in Sunderland who would do her more good than I should. She doesn’t seem to be able to understand why I should want to go. She says it’s fussy.”
“Did you tell her that I would read to her while you are gone?” asked Iris.
“No, my dear, I couldn’t get that in; she’s so very impetuous. And besides, the first thing she said was:—
“‘Of course you’ll understand, Miss Munnion, that if you feel obliged to go to Sunderland our connection is at an end.’ So I shall lose the situation after all,” ended Miss Munnion with a sigh.
Iris stood in silent thought for a moment.
“Did she look very angry?” she said at length.
“Well, yes,” said Miss Munnion. “I must say she seemed completely upset. I think she was vexed to start with, because, you know, she didn’t get her nap.”
“You stop here a minute,” said Iris suddenly, and ran into the house. She pushed open the door of Mrs Fotheringham’s sitting-room gently and peeped in. Her godmother was sitting very upright in her high-backed chair, a frown on her brow, and the parrot on her shoulder. She looked so alarming that Iris felt almost inclined to run away again, but the old lady turned her head suddenly and saw her.
“Well,” she said, with an air of sarcastic resignation, “what do you want? Any more ducks under bee-hives, or have you got a sick sister too?”