“Why, my darling?” she inquired feebly.
“She’s ill,” answered Philippa. “May Mrs Bunce pack them in a basket?”
“Certainly, you may send them to the little girl if you wish, my dear, and it’s very sweet of you to think of it. But I couldn’t let you go into a dirty cottage and see sick people, you know. You might catch all sorts of complaints.”
And to this, in spite of Philippa’s angry arguments, Mrs Trevor remained firm. It did not matter, she said, what Dennis and Maisie were allowed to do at Fieldside, or how many poor people they went to see there. She did not choose Philippa to have anything to do with sick people in Upwell, and she could not listen to any more on the subject.
Philippa flew out of the room with her eyes full of tears, and her list crumpled up in her hand, cast herself upon Miss Mervyn’s neck, and told her all this as well as she could for her sobs.
Miss Mervyn listened with sympathy.
“Did your mother say why she did not wish you to go?” she asked presently.
“Because,” said Philippa with difficulty, “she says I should catch complaints. Dennis and Maisie don’t catch complaints.”
“Would you like me to go and hear what Mrs Trevor says?” suggested Miss Mervyn kindly. “Perhaps I could explain things to her better; but you must promise to be good and patient if your mother does not alter her mind.”
“I promise, I promise,” said Philippa eagerly. “And if you will persuade her, I will never, never be naughty again, and I will love you always.”