Having impinged momentarily upon a drab tragedy of Clerkenwell and taken a considerable fancy to Elsie, and having imperiously summoned her dog, Miss Raste, who was being educated to leave Clerkenwell one day and disdain it, departed on her mission with a demeanour in which the princess and the filly were mingled.
"What's the matter? What have you turned the light on for?" Mr. Earlforward demanded when Elsie, much agitated, entered the bedroom. "What is the matter?"
Elsie tried to compose her face.
"How do you feel now, sir?" she asked, serpent-like in spite of her simplicity and nervousness.
"I feel decidedly better. In fact, I was almost thinking of getting up."
"Oh! That's good. Because the doctor's sending a taxi for you, and I am to take you to the hospital at once. Here's all your things." She fingered a loaded chair. "And while you're putting 'em on I'll just run upstairs and get my things."
"Is the doctor here?" Henry cautiously inquired.
"No, sir. He says he's too busy. But he's sent his little girl."
"Well, I'm not going to the hospital. Why should I go to the hospital?" Mr. Earlforward exclaimed with peevish, rather shrill obstinacy.
She had "known" he would refuse to go to the hospital. She was beaten from the start.