Miss Mivvins; to remind her of Our Seat, on which so many of these pages were written.
William Masters.
She stood with her eyes on the writing, the book in her hand, for many minutes. Then put the volume down with a sigh. After all, she thought, real friends are as rare as Christian charity.
Crunching sounds—boot pressure of gravel, made her look out of the window on to the path leading to the gate. The doctor was coming up it to the house. She went out to meet him.
Gracie was not well—restless and feverish—was now lying on her bed sleeping. The doctor, on his previous visit, had thought it a cold merely, but there were faint symptoms which made him promise to come again. He was there in fulfilment of that promise now.
She was waiting for him at the door when he reached it. Nodding to her, in an informal, friendly way, he questioned cheerily:
"And how is the little one this morning?"
"Much better, I think, doctor. She is sleeping peacefully now."
"Sleeping? Still? Is she drowsy?... Let me see her."
They walked into the bedroom together. The noise of their entrance roused the child. She looked up and around her, with the frightened eyes of one suddenly awakened from alarming dreams.
"Well, little girlie!"