At the Edgeware Road station she felt confused by the frightful congestion in the streets until, in answer to an inquiry, a friendly policeman told her that the street she wished to find was near the Park end of the wide thoroughfare.
"About ten minutes' walk, Miss," he assured her.
And, though a policeman's ten minutes is an elastic measure, Isla was not unduly tired by the time she reached Agnes Fraser's door.
Before she rang the bell she looked critically up and down Cromer Street, contemplating the fact that for some time to come it would limit her horizon. It was eminently respectable but dull, and some of the houses had a dingy look. Even Mrs. Fraser's, Isla thought, was less bright and cheerful than usual. The brass furnishings on the doors looked as if they had not been polished for several days, and the raindrops had dried upon the "Apartments" plate which, the last time Isla had seen it, had shone like gold.
An exceedingly untidy slip of a girl about sixteen, in response to her ring, opened the door just a few inches. She had a squint in one eye, which perhaps accounted for her cap being set awry on her unkempt hair.
"Is Mrs. Fraser at home?" asked Isla imperiously.
"Yus, Miss, but she ain't well, she's in bed. You can't see her."
This dashed Isla's fine spirits for a moment.
"In bed is she? What is the matter--anything serious?"
"She's 'ad newmonier, been mortial bad, Miss, but she's gettin' better. Only if it's apartments yer after, there ain't any."