“Well, then, we will go,” she said, rising to look out of the window. “But it’s very damp, Pennie. Put on goloshes, and a waterproof, for I think we shall have more rain.”
Nothing could have shown Pennie’s influence more strongly than Miss Unity’s consenting to leave the house just after it had rained, or just before it was going to rain. Damp was dreadful, and mud was a sort of torture, but it had become worse than either to deny Pennie a pleasure, and they presently set out for the College shrouded in waterproofs, though the sun was now shining brightly.
Old Nurse was at home, and received them with great delight. Miss Unity and she had so much to say to each other about the measles at Easney, and other matters, that Pennie began to fear it might be difficult to get in a word upon any subject more interesting to herself. She was quite determined, however, to do it if possible, and the thought of how bold Nancy would be in like circumstances gave her courage. She would be bold too when the moment came, and she sat watching for it, her eyes fixed on Nurse’s face, and a sentence all ready to thrust in at the first crevice in the conversation.
At last it came.
“Does Kettles’ mother still come and scrub for you?” she asked, shooting out the sentence so suddenly that Miss Unity started.
“Lor’, now, Miss Pennie, what a memory you have got to be sure!” exclaimed old Nurse with sincere admiration. “To think of your remembering that! No, she doesn’t, poor soul, and I begin to doubt if she ever will again.”
“Why?” asked Pennie breathlessly.
“She’s been down with rheumatic fever these three weeks,” said Nurse, shaking her head regretfully. “It’s a poor woman who lives close by, Miss,”—turning to Miss Unity—“a very sad case.”
“She knows,” interrupted Pennie, for she thought it a great waste of time to explain matters all over again.
“My dear,” corrected Miss Unity, “let Mrs Margetts speak.”