The next day—already it was his last day but one—was a festival: Mrs. Cloud was to come down to tea and to stay up to dinner.
She had no business to do either, as she and Laura and the doctor knew, but—Mrs. Cloud was coming down!
They bargained with the doctor.
If it were a fine warm day—(But it was wet and cold.)
If she kept quiet all the morning—(“Then you must look after Justin, Laura!”)
If she promised to go to bed again really early——
If—if——
In short——Mrs. Cloud was coming down.
Hard upon Laura to be bothered with Justin, wasn’t it? When she was so particularly busy; when she had promised the Depôt more work than she knew how to get through. But she made no objection whatever: came downstairs to him with obliging readiness: sat listening with an air that might have been mistaken for satisfaction, to the windy rain thudding at the windows. No going out in such rain!
She took up her half-finished sock and then had to put it down again to help Justin. Justin was raking through the bookshelves.