She rose weakly and tried it on. It fitted as well as a sealskin mantle can fit.
"My word—it's warm!" she said. This was her sole comment.
"Keep it on," said Denry.
His mother's glance withered the suggestion.
"Where are you going?" he asked, as she left the room.
"To put it away," said she. "I must get some moth powder to-morrow."
He protested with inarticulate noises, removed his own furs, which he threw down on to the old worn-out sofa, and drew a Windsor chair up to the fire. After a while his mother returned, and sat down in her rocking-chair, and began to shiver again under the shawl and the antimacassar. The lamp on the table lighted up the left side of her face and the right side of his.
"Look here, mother," said he. "You must have a doctor."
"I shall have no doctor."
"You 've got influenza, and it's a very tricky business—influenza is; you never know where you are with it."