“Do let me in,” said the medical lady. “I advise it in your own interests. Let me have a peep at her, and if, as you say, she is better and sleeping, I shall be able to reassure Mrs. Wilcox and the others. Miss Belcher and Mrs. Dumaresq are so terribly afraid of anything infectious, that at tea they were talking of leaving.”
“No,” said Prudence, driven into a corner, “you shall not see her, Miss Lord. She is getting on all right, and does not want to see anyone.”
“Shan’t I?” suddenly ejaculated the medical lady; and before Prudence knew what she intended, she made a dash at the open door leading to Augusta’s room. Prudence, however, was too quick for her. She reached it first, pulled it to, locked it, for the key fortunately was on her side, and, putting her back to it, stood flushed, panting, and breathless, facing Miss Lord.
“How dare you!” she cried, stung out of her ordinary meekness. “This is outrageous. Leave my room at once; no one asked you to come here.”
Miss Lord was hateful to look upon at that moment. If a soft featherbed had risen up and struck her in the face, she could scarcely have been more surprised.
“Ha, ha!” she said menacingly, “so there is a mystery here!”
“Will you go, please?”
“Oh yes, I’ll go.”
She stopped at the outer door.
“You had better take care, Miss Prudence Semaphore,” with a withering emphasis on the “Prudence.” “Perhaps I know more than you think. You may be sorry for this yet.”