“Clio Tallboys would view this as a triumph,” said Mrs. Duncombe, as, standing on the steps of the town-hall, she surveyed the four tenements at the corner of the alley. “Not a man would stir in the business except Pettitt, who left it all to me.”
“Taking example by the Professor,” said Lady Tyrrell.
“It is strange,” said Miss Slater, “how much illness there has been ever since the people went into those houses. They are in my district, you know.”
“You should make them open their windows,” said Mrs. Duncombe.
“They lay it on the draughts.”
“And stuff up my ventilators. That is always the way they begin.”
The excellent widow herself had a bad finger, which was a great impediment in administering the cooling beverages, but these were so excellent as to suggest the furnishing of a stall therewith for the thirsty, as something sure to be popular and at small expense. Therewith the committee broke up, all having been present but Miss Moy, whose absence was not regretted, though apologized for by Mrs. Duncombe. “I could not get her away from the stables,” she said. “She and Bob would contemplate Dark Hag day and night, I believe.”
“I wouldn’t allow it,” said Lady Tyrrell.
Mrs. Duncombe shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “That’s Mr. Moy’s look-out,” she said.
“You don’t choose to interfere with her emancipation,” said Lady Tyrrell.